


Straying From the Thunder

by SHSL_ex_SOLDIER



Category: RWBY
Genre: Amputee Yang, F/F, Modern AU, PS will change rating later on, Slow Burn, aged up AU, band au, bar au, but with a deadline, coffee shop AU, heelies Weiss, i really love my girls loving and being loved in return, i'm as thirsty as you, if you know what i mean, in this house we love and respect, just gals loving gals no surprises there, let's play the game how many AU's i can fit into this fic, not a songfic surprisingly, piercings Blake, probably, slow at first and then holy shit everything is on fire, tattoos Ruby, that chapter's already written btw, will add tags as it goes, winkwink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSL_ex_SOLDIER/pseuds/SHSL_ex_SOLDIER
Summary: In the morning, Weiss gets her caffeine fix from Ruby at a local coffee shop. In the evening, Blake gets her alcohol mix from Yang at the bar. And somewhere in between all that, Yang and Ruby part time as a rock duo. There's a lot going on and not much at the same time. They take it day by day.Also known as "a coffee shop, a band, and modern, walk into a bar AU"





	1. Mirror Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice Queen gets a warm welcoming drink

****It should have been routine.

Like clockwork, Weiss wakes up at 5AM sharp. She gets up, gets breakfast, and gets dressed; each task accomplished in a minute, fifteen minutes, and half an hour respectively. She’s done this so many times that she’s got it down to the last seconds and a quick glance at her wristwatch only confirms what she already knows. It’s 5:46AM and she’s already out the door.

Everything else that follows is also part of routine. The schedule however isn’t as clinical as she would have liked given certain factors beyond her control.

Two of her fingers tap on her steering wheel, an annoying habit any person would develop upon missing the green traffic light just because the car before her wasn’t fast enough.

Quite the tragedy indeed. The only saving grace is that when she finally arrives at her first stop, no idiot tried to park in her designated space. She certainly hoped it would stay that way since she made herself perfectly clear last time.

With a calculated step, she walks into an establishment named ‘Expresso Yourself’ in a poor attempt at humor. Unironically, she holds the record of having the most deadpan expression but the employees would never live to tell the tale.

One would think it would be beneath her to order something herself when she could have just as easily ordered someone else to do the chore for her. And she has done that before, more often than not actually. After all, time is worth more than wasting it on something as trivial as mundane chores.

It’s just that she never does the same for coffee.

She makes it a point to personally procure her caffeinated needs. And why shouldn’t she? She’s the CEO of Schnee Beans Company or SBC— the largest supplier of high quality coffee beans worldwide. What’s in her blood isn’t just the highest quality of caffeine but also the sheer tenacity it took to dethrone her father at the young age of 25. It might have helped that she also genuinely loved coffee above the normal dependence on it.

So it is only imperative of her to scrutinize every coffee based purchase she makes especially when it’s from a partner distributor.

She doesn’t even glance at the menu anymore. She does however check her watch and is satisfied to note that she is making good time. Perhaps she’ll savor a sip or two before heading out again. She takes a deep breath, the aroma of coffee already filling her with comfort second only to actually drinking some. Definitely staying but only for a while. She could afford a few minutes to enjoy the ambiance. After all, she does wake up earlier just to drive a bit farther out to this particular coffee shop which never seems to be too busy and yet oddly still never goes out of business. Maybe that’s why she enjoys the coffee here. Less prying eyes can do wonders to the flavor.

She’s out of place here but at the same time, she feels as if she fits just a bit better here than anywhere else.

There are already several customers seated, some looking as if they had just gotten out of bed which they probably have, some sporting styles that were trying too hard at this hour, some wearing uniforms which they wore with less than pleasant expressions, and then some more. But nothing stole glances quite as much as Weiss’ pristine white business suit, pressed and tailor fitted to accentuate all her intimidating angles. That and her long snowy hair cascading behind, white on white like snowfall on frozen waters. It feels like it’s forever fall in the cafe but she walks in like how winter comes in too early. The only other color on her person is the bright blue necktie but even that just compliments the striking blueness of her own eyes.

It’s warmer than room temperature in here but anyone who dares meets her gaze, shivers.

When she reaches the counter, she is greeted by a new face. Then again, this place shuffles employees every few months and she’s been a loyal customer for years so it barely fazes her. The sight of long sleeves in contrast to the usual high collar short sleeved shirt uniform almost breaks her momentum but she catches herself at the last second. A change of uniform hasn’t been unheard of after all and if anyone asks her, it’s about time.

“Just the usual Americano. To go, please.” She hands a few crisp bills, takes her receipt and leaves the change.

Later on, she would recount the memory and note that the numbers didn’t quite add up.

It surprises her when her order comes in two minutes later than usual. She supposes it’s the human factor. The newly hired must not be up to par or at least not yet. She sincerely hopes it’s the latter case.

“Hi! Thanks for waiting! Here’s your coffee!” The new barista greets with more cheer than any functioning adult is capable of at a 6AM workshift serving grouchy customers before their first coffee fix. What’s more is that her enthusiasm actually seems genuine. It’s a bit refreshing if unexpected. Her smile stretches from ear to ear and there is a mesmerizing shine in her eyes— silver eyes, Weiss notes absentmindedly.

Silver eyes gleam, framed by the darkness of her bangs, similar to how the moon could only be appreciated when shrouded by night. Except Weiss does not think of the night. The tips of the hair are dyed red like the sunrise and that infuriating smile is too bright. The sheer brilliance momentarily stuns her. She stares at her in a daze, feeling as if she’s only waking up now. It’s not an unwelcome feeling. If anything, it’s strange.

And just when she thinks she’s already seen her fair share of strange things in the morning, her eyes shift and catches something even stranger.

Weiss didn’t think she was ready for any more surprises and let the record show that she has never been fond of them. So it was only natural for her to freeze at the outright absurdity of what was presented before her.

A steaming cup of latte had the audacity to take its place on her table. It was served in the signature coffee cup, white and curved but never spilling. The drink itself was a latte, if the art is telling enough. And _oh_ , did this art tell indeed. A gorgeous rose was drawn with such professional precision to details that it felt like a crime to desecrate such a work of art. The petals looked soft and blossoming, and the red dye contrasted magnificently well against the dull mocha background. And maybe Weiss just isn’t quite awake yet because she could have sworn she could smell the faintest hint of actual roses, intermingling subtly with the intoxicating aroma of coffee.

It’s breathtaking. It’s a masterpiece that makes her think if maybe she’s daydreaming. It’s the finest cup she’s ever laid eyes on and her mouth dries in anticipation if it tastes just as divine as it looks.

It’s not her order.

And suddenly, all of that strangeness or dares she say awe or whatever potentially positive feelings that Weiss had, is wiped with absolute indignation. With anger boiling only rivaling the coffee’s actual temperature, steam would have come out of her ears if it were possible. “Take this away before it goes tepid. I’m sure the customer who ordered this would appreciate it better.” She practically snarls.

In the back of her mind, she has the decency to remind herself that she is in fact, bitter about having gotten her order wrong and she is not at all bitter that she is not the supposed owner of this promising drink.

She raises her chin in a way that feels as if she’s looking down at the poor barista despite being the one seated. “I’ll overlook this mishap once but for the sake of continuing good business, I expect that the next time you bother me is with my actual order.” Her words may be polite but her tone is sharp and any lesser person would have been shredded.

It unfortunately has no such effect on the intended person.

“Huh? But this is... your order?” The barista’s smile falters, less out of shame but more out of confusion. It didn’t make sense that she looked at Weiss as if she was the nonsensical one. “You said, ‘ _the usual_ ’, right? And I _usually_ make lattes so…” She fiddles with her fingers in what Weiss recognizes as an act of nervousness and maybe it would have been cute if only the blatant absolvement of the crime didn’t add to her frustration.

“What kind of simpleton logic is that? I didn’t ask for _your_ usual! I ordered for _my_ usual!” She finally snaps at the incompetent woman. Honestly, she shouldn’t even have to explain herself and yet here she is. Three minutes behind schedule and still without her morning coffee. A scarcity of caffeine has left her lacking in tactfulness as well. “And if I must repeat myself to get it through that thick skull of yours, it is an _Americano_!”

The barista flinches as if scalded. But like before, there is no shame, only confusion.  “Well that’s… good to know?” She tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace at best.

In another surprising twist of events, rather than dawning on the barista, the understanding falls upon Weiss. It’s not an epiphany she takes joy in. “You dolt! Do you even know what an Americano is?!”

“Um…” The woman opens her mouth as if to reply. It hangs there precariously for a moment. And then closes. She bites the inside of her cheek which speaks volumes on that question’s answer. And if that wasn’t incriminating enough, her next words are, “Is there a non-racist way to answer that?”

Weiss briefly considers if there’s a non-violent way to express her outrage. “Unbelievable! How were you even hired with such dubious credentials!”

“Hey! I can make a pretty good latte rose!”

“It doesn’t matter! It is NOT my order!”

And Weiss would have been eventually charged with homicide (and she would have gotten away with it too) if not for the sharp beep of her wristwatch interrupting her train of thoughts. She chances a glance, 6:20AM. That only seemed to fuel her already growing frustrations. She lets out an exasperated sigh punctuated by pinching the bridge of her nose. She is certainly not caffeinated enough, or _at all_ , to deal with this and there is an increasing likelihood of being late should she let this exhausting tirade go on.

“You know what? I don’t have the luxury of time to deal with this.” She stands just to emphasize her case and points in accusation at the liable party. “Seeing as your only redeeming skill is your questionable latte—”

“Hey! My latte is NOT sketchy!” The woman protests but Weiss silences her with a glare so cold that would have left frostbites.

“I have yet deemed its worth since I have not sampled it. Hence, its questionable reputation.” She explains nonetheless and all with the faith of a non-believer. It’s late and in her defense, she’s holding a grudge instead of her usual cup of coffee. “Still, it would do. I’ll have another but this time, I want it _to go_ and I do hope that you have the basic training in at least serving it in the right cup... _or else._ ”

The barista mumbles something close to an agreement but Weiss is having no other slip ups.

“Can you do this?” Her voice is cold and commanding, and as if called upon, a pair of silver eyes meet her gaze readily.

“Can I?” The woman asks as if scandalized by the mere accusation of otherwise.

“Well, can you?” Weiss narrows her eyes, unimpressed.

But her eyes widen even if only for a fraction as soon as the barista’s smile catches her by surprise yet again.

“Of course, I can!”

* * *

_“I can’t do this.”_

_Red fluttered in the makeshift breeze as a figure frantically paced across the floor._

_“What? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet already because if I knew that earlier then I would have gladly given up the fire gimmick for you.” The only other person in the room stood confidently, only moving her eyes to follow the cluster of nerves having a nervous breakdown in front of her._

_“Yang! I’m serious!” The younger one whipped her head in an instant of raw fury that her cloak billowed in such a dramatic flair behind her._

_“So am I.” She answered levelly. But a desperate glare sent her way had her backpedaling. “I’m kidding!” Both hands raised in her defense._

_The glare softens just a bit but it’s all the leeway the jokester needs._

_“You’ll just have to figure out those cold feet without my heat.” She wiggled her eyebrows in a way that only the truly confident could pull off. She never did lack in that department. “There ain’t no way I’m giving up those fireworks. I am an eternal flame, baby!”_

_It’s such a shame that humor is so easily lost to the young and panicking ones._

_“Yang,_ please _.” Ruby practically begged at this point. She loves her sister and all but she could do without fun and playful sister now. Right now she needed wise and coaching sister instead. “Focus. Me having a nervous breakdown is still an ongoing thing!”_

_“Yeah, and this show sucks. How is it still on air? Not because of the ratings that’s for sure.”_

_“Yang…”_

_“Okay, got it. I Yang-derstand,” She couldn’t help the smug grin as she delivered that line. Sure, Ruby didn’t appreciate it now but that didn’t take away from the fact that it was a good line. But anyways, sister mode on. “Look, you’re obviously doing your thing where you’re overthinking again. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”_

_“A lot. A lot could go wrong, Yang,” Ruby readily answered and it’s the most certain she’s sounded during the whole night. “I mean for starters, what if we suck? What if we suck so bad that the crowd hates us? Do we even have a crowd out there? What if we don’t have a crowd out and then we suck and then we’ll have even less than no crowd? That’s like, a negative crowd! Like negative as in less than zero. Wait, is it possible to get a negative crowd?” Her face was painted sickly pale as a newfound horror dawned on her. “Oh my gosh, we’ll be the first band in history to have a negative crowd.”_

_Well that escalated quickly._

_“Slow down there, Rubes.” She placed a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder, only now noticing the quick shallow breaths she’s been having. She gave her shoulder a firm squeeze and their eyes meet. It’s enough to remind Ruby to at least slow down her breathing. Yang gave her another gentle squeeze and with a smile, she suggested, “How about we get you out of that negative thinking for starters. How about some positive thinking instead!”_

_“Positive...” For a while, Ruby locked herself inside her head again. She obviously gave this more thought than necessary but that’s just how overthinking works. And then something clicked inside, finally she raised her head and met with Yang’s expectant gaze. Again, with rare and certain confidence, she declared, “I am positive that we are going to suck so bad that we get a negative crowd.”_

_Sometimes Ruby’s creativeness could be a blessing and a curse._

_“Okaaay, see when I meant positive I definitely did not mean that.”_

_“Is it too late to back out now? It’s never too late to back out, right? I know you say quitters are losers but I think I’ll be okay with being a loser. Losers only get no crowds which is kind of a plus from a negative crowd. Now that I think about it, that doesn’t sound that bad at all, right? Right. Let’s back out now. That will at least let our faces from total humiliation for the rest of our lives.”_

_“Sis, chill.” Yang stopped that downward spiral right there. She placed her other hand on the other shoulder, effectively capturing her full attention. “We technically don’t even have faces to save. That’s kind of the whole point of the masks and stage names, remember?”_

_Ruby shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure the conversation went like this. I said, ‘_ Hey, Yang. I’m really not comfortable with people staring at my face but I really like playing with you and I guess it would be cool if people could listen to us play together. But I’m not getting over my fear of people facing so I have this awesome idea of wearing a mask. You know, for theatrics! Oh, and also so people technically won’t be staring at my face. Please don’t laugh. _’”_

_“I’m still not hearing the contradiction.”_

_“I’m not finished yet.” She rolled her eyes and continued, “Then you told me, ‘_ Ruby, masks are lame. You know what’s not lame? Stage names. Let’s make up our own names! Won’t that be totally awesome?’ _’”_

_“And aren’t they totally awesome?” Yang never missed a chance to high five her past self. Her confidence was built on consistency after all._

_Ruby obviously wanted to argue that Yang completely missed the point but she couldn’t deny the truth to that question. “Yeah, they are,” She mumbled with certain affection. She honestly did love the anonymity that the stage names provided. That and with a mask hiding her face, she felt as if she could totally let go without a care about crowd or no crowd or even negative crowd._

_The shift in tension brought out a relief in Ruby that relaxes her shoulders just shy enough for Yang to notice and take and spur on._

_“Listen, don’t sweat the details. All I’m hearing you say is that we have cool masks and awesome names and that WE are totally awesome.” She let go of her and affectionately ruffled her hair. “Besides, you’re acting like this is the end of the world and this isn’t even our first time.”_

_“I still get nervous though.” Ruby shrunk in between her shoulders._

_“Oh, I know.” Yang teased her with a smirk. ”But I also know that you always get over it and that you always have fun after. You’re gonna be fiiine.”_

_Two knocks. And a muffled call for them to head to the stage in a few minutes._

_“So, you ready?” Yang gave her one last reassuring smile before sliding on her mask._

_“No, not really.” Ruby donned her own mask and just beneath it, her past reservations go unmasked. “But I have to be.”_

_And when they stepped on that stage, they played their roles to the fullest._

_“Good evening, Vale! We have a lovely full moon tonight! Which means tonight’s a good night to see the Grimm Eclipse!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is a thing. 
> 
> Huh, just to make it clear, this is a Modern!AU with everyone basically aged up. Ruby's 23 while Weiss, Blake, Yang are 25. This just started out as a Band!AU but since there's plenty of those involving the whole team, I thought a sister duo could be just as interesting. The CoffeeShop!AU and the Bar!AU are happy coincidences. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks so much for giving this a chance! Drop a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed this so far. I know introductory chapters tend to be slow but trust me once I get the ball rolling, this ship will be sailing come hell or high waters. But yeah, I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me what you think. Feedback keeps me updating this fic regularly. Thank you so much again!!
> 
>  
> 
> **Expect the other ship's chapter up shortly since I do not break a team.**


	2. I Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitty Cat gets her tongue stuck

_Never underestimate her dramatic flair or her love for literal flares._

_Flames danced along her fingertips. The rapid succession of beating sticks goaded the fires to rise with every strike like a volcano erupting on tap. More often than not, the searing flames would clash against her powerful fists and there’s a certain burning thrill that courses through her veins each time but not a single burn singes her skin._

_Instead the flames melded and glazed across the gold plating of her gauntlets, the only armor effectively protecting her against the very harm she signed herself up for. From her fingertips up to her elbows, leather and metal all fired up but never quite burning as long as the cooling mechanism prevented it. This was a pyromaniac’s dream._

_A stomp on the pedal and the drumset burst into even more flames._

_There’s a reason why she chose Ember Celica as her stage name._

_Sweat trickled down her neck and anywhere with what little skin she exposed. Having her glorious mane tied up in a bun and hidden took out points on her overall looks but at least that’s one less fire hazard waiting to happen. But damn wouldn’t that have looked awesome along with her mask._

_A dragon’s skull, bony white, easily twice the length of her face from the pronounced snout to the two long protruding horns at the other end, and with eyes that glowed an eerie orange red._

_T_ _he skulls motif was her sister’s idea and the only complaint Yang had was that she had to hide her gorgeous face and just as amazing hair. It’s only after teasing her distressed sister that she conceded to the point that was the purpose of the whole mask._ _It was edgy but so long as it wasn’t cringey, Yang rolled with it. She’s partially grateful that her mask was modified to make it easier to breathe so that’s a plus._

_And surprisingly enough, the mask did not take away from her outfit._

_She rocked a loose orange tank top, revealing a black sports bra from the back and the sides, black skin tight pants, and thigh high boots with orange and gold accents. Sometimes she really wished she could let her hair down because hot damn wouldn’t that be so hot? But since she couldn’t, she just settled for hotness in a literal sense._

_That’s what she basically was. A dragon on fire._

_Across her on the stage was Ruby. That might not be the most truthful observation. After all, Ruby was a ball of nerves who always froze with stage fright._

_But this person? This person performed with all the confidence in the world and then some. This person sang as if the fire was burning inside her rather than on skin. This person strummed guitar riffs until her fingers bled just to finish an encore song. This person was no Ruby Rose._

_This otherworldly person was Crescent Rose._

_With her mask on, Ruby could become anyone she wanted to be, and she chose to be Crescent Rose. A Rose who bloomed for the stage. Here on this concrete and artificial stage, a wildflower has blossomed defying all expectations. Her roots were firmly planted in the music she loved to create and even more so_ _—_ _loved to share. The spotlight shone on her similar to how the sun’s smiles were meant to nurture gardens. She longed for the thunderous roar of the crowd like how a flower needed water to survive. And after survival comes deliverance._

_What better promise of beauty than a rose?_

_But she was more than just beautiful. Unlike a rose which could only take root on spot for the entirety of its life, this Rose uprooted herself and danced across the stage, free as anything but a rose. She’d deliver her promise after all and in the process, everyone else wouldn’t even bother with the thorns so long as they’d be there when the promise was renewed time and time again. She’d charm the crowd with her words, seduce them with her chords, and ensnare them with her strings. When she’s on the stage, she is the only Rose that matters._

_A Rose in full bloom, ever beautiful, and all the love put into her has made her so important._

_And when the song hits chorus, rose petals rain from above._

_Red like roses, her cloak billowed from behind with a grand flourish, petals seemingly fall loose from it as if it were only natural. Her hood at rest in lieu of her mask. An enlarged wolf’s skull, unnaturally white swallowing her whole head, the lower jaw missing which only sharpened the row of fangs._

_A mockery of little red riding hood being the big bad wolf all along._

_In her hands wasn’t just an instrument but a weapon. She had poured her blood into her music and in a way, it had solidified into the form of her guitar. Blood red glistened from the neck down to the transparent body where it curved and sharpened along the far edge _,_ _similar to a scythe. A bewitching and decimating weapon. This was the Crescent to her Rose_ _— her other half._ _

_Black and red draped across her skin in the form of a corset, a flowing skirt that stopped just atop her thighs, leggings, and boots that were made for making herself heard with every stomp. The only sleeves she’s ever worn here were her tattoos. Vines of roses coiled along the length of her arms, plants of ink taking root in skin, thorns pricking flesh never bleeding, and flowers bloomed where muscles tensed. Her own garden of roses, never wilting, forever in blooming._

_But the greatest Rose of all is the one that sings._

_Above the roar of an enchanted crowd, the wolf howls and the dragon soars._

_A cacophonous battle of notes, unyielding and mesmerizing at the same time. Heartbeats thundered traitorously inside rib cages, pushing just a bit further along the edge with every BPM threshold broken._

_Ember Celica drummed to her own wild beat, loud and steady but never dull, like the fun yet reliable companion that’s always present in every epic journey._

_Crescent Rose strummed to a siren’s melody, alluring and haunting but also no escaping, as if the notes themselves begged to be listened to._

_And together, the duo eclipsed not just the stage but the whole world of the crowd._

_The moon may be full tonight but it’s never a true Grimm Eclipse until the petals fall and fire burns._

* * *

Fire burned, flickering and then ultimately dying as they were smothered.

There were some shots were fired, said shots just so happen to be flaming tequila shots, and now there was fire burning through a table or two not counting the number of casualties.

Blake never asked for this. All she wanted was a long hard drink, preferably the bartender’s choice of alcoholic beverage for the night, and she definitely wanted no collateral damage or additional stress after an already exhausting day at work. She specifically recalled never mentioning any desire for fire, which was already a low bar for a request.

Unfortunately, the new bartender had an affinity for blazing drinks and for throwing said drinks at rude customers.

It was obvious to anyone but the bartender that people on fire would not ‘ _stop, drop, and roll’_ but instead _‘scream, run, and set more things on fire’_.

So a fire extinguisher, a few charred and questionably salvageable furniture, and all the sleazeballs kicked out, Blake finds herself exactly in the same spot she was before all the shots were fired. It’s going to take a bit more than just the bystander skirmish to get her to go home without a drink. Sitting on one of the luckier seats, across the counter is the bartender who just might be a not so sneaky arsonist. And if that smug grin is anything to go by, she isn’t even trying to hide the fact.

Now that the action has died down, the lamplights glow steady which makes it easier to study the finer details of her profile.

Her golden locks flow gloriously free on her back, bright and waving like the flicker of a lantern’s ember. Lilac eyes betray a softer side to her despite all the hardness her body portrays. A crop top and a slick jacket with the first and last two buttons unbuttoned reveal well endowed chest, abs chiseled to perfection, and a stud piercing her navel. And while that is interesting enough, it isn’t quite as distracting as the mismatch of hands at the end of her sleeves.

A metallic right hand which moves just as naturally as the still flesh left hand.

The stolen glances never last longer than what is polite but from the smirk that the bartender’s giving, it just might have come across as flattering. Well at least she hasn’t offended her. Maybe she’ll ask about it on a different night because with god knows that Blake will need a few drinks here and there with a deadline coming up.

But Blake isn’t the only one sneaking looks as she catches the bartender not quite meeting her eyes. 

She almost twitches her ears in response, acutely aware of the double piercings she had on both of her ears. These are definitely not acceptable accessories for the black business suit she wears to work but her boss let it slide. She’s immune to those curious gazes at this point including the bartender’s less subtle approach.

“Sorry about that. Just had to take the trash out.“ There’s a certain shimmer in her eyes that reminds Blake of the playful flicker of a flame.

In the back of her mind, she begins her assessment. It’s not something the bartender should apologize for. If anything, Blake thinks she owes her thanks. This all started when a bunch of creeps were harassing her the second she sat. It’s nothing she couldn’t handle (and hasn’t handled before) but the volunteered help was appreciated.

But then again, the helper may have had more fun than necessary with her assist. She certainly could have been more tactful about it and less bordering arson. Blake could tell from the woman’s body language that a show of gratitude is just a formality at this point. What she really wanted in payback was a good conversation for starters.

So Blake indulges her.

“You do know that it’s not environmentally friendly to burn trash,” There’s a playful lilt in her tone despite the straight face she pulls.

It’s more effective than she thought. “Ha! That’s a good one!” The woman barked in approval and Blake thinks she might have stoked a fire in those eyes. “I like you already. You know what, this one’s on the house!”

There’s a certain meticulousness to the process that reminds Blake that this woman is in fact an actual bartender.

She pulls out a martini glass and pours two different drinks in it, measured perfectly from memory. Then she places a bar opener on top. She then proceeds to stack an upside down tower of a wineglass, a snifter, and a shot glass, in that order from bottom to top. She pulls out another wineglass but keeps it separate from the precarious tower. She pours the contents of a different pair of bottles into the new glass, a dark rusty mix in contrast of the defined blueness of the tower’s martini glass.

When she takes out a blowtorch, Blake isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Don’t forget your straw. You’re gonna need that unless you have a thing for first degree burns along with your drink.”

“Is there any reason for you to assume otherwise?”

“Hey, I don’t judge.”

With practiced ease, she tilts the separate wineglass and heats up the glass beneath the liquid. Blake absentmindedly notes that it is the woman’s left hand holding the heated glass, probably to better get a feel for the temperature. When the moment is right, the bartender all too eager lights up the rusty liquid and pours it over the tower. Blue flames trailblaze down until ultimately caught in the blueness of the bottom martini glass.

“Drink up, buttercup!”

Now Blake is a sensible person. Alcohol is bad. Fire is bad. But as she drinks the very epitome of two bad ideas mixed into one questionable concoction, Blake comes to the understanding that this is warm.

It’s slides down her throat, warm and smooth and sinfully _good_.

She narrowly swallows a satisfied moan along with more of what could be her new favorite drink. Only the rasp sound of a straw sipping on a disappointingly empty glass snaps her out of her reverie. When a sigh flits across her lips, she allows herself this much expression. The proud grin that the bartender shoots her doesn’t go amiss. And quite frankly, Blake’s too impressed to deny her this unspoken praise. The warm drink did wonders to relax her and soon enough she has a rare case of loose lips.

“Isn’t this different from what you... _served_ those guys earlier?”

If serving could be even considered synonymous to just plain throwing shot glasses at flammable clothes which just so happen to be currently worn on persons. Those were good aims though, she recalls with certain clarity. Blake’s not drunk enough to erase the particular memory of watching flaming shot glasses thrown at crotches and the occasional ass if the guy turned at the last moment.

“Well, yeah. That’s because this beauty right here is a Flaming Lamborghini,” The woman announces the name like one would flaunt a well earned medal.

“Huh.” Blake runs her eyes at the tower of glasses, trying and failing to piece how the other half of the name came to. She knows better than to make sense out of nonsense. “This actually isn’t as bad as I’d expect from a drink that’s named after a car.”

“Burnt tires don’t exactly sell as good taste and I honestly don’t want to know what a burning luxury car actually tastes like.” The woman looks both ways before she finally leans in to whisper, “Between you and me, I always assume that this is what being rich enough to burn a car tastes like.” She pulls back with a conspiring smile.

“It certainly costs as much as burning through my wallet at least,” Blake rectifies that assumption.

“Well that’s because you aren’t supposed to look at the price. Rich people are problematic like that.”

“It’s good to know that I won’t have that problem.”

They share a good laugh at this. It’s a different kind of warmth compared to the burn of the alcohol that Blake just downed.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s the name of the drinks you tossed from before?”

Those were prepared differently and they were nothing as complicated as stacking glasses into a tower. Everything happened so fast. She barely paid attention when the bartender had pulled out shot glass after shot glass and armed herself with a spoon as she carefully but also quickly created a colorful multi-layered drink in each glass.

And then lit each one before tossing at the customers. Rather unconventional way of serving but as long as Blake isn’t the one paying then she’s not complaining.

“Those cheap shots I threw?” The woman’s eyes shimmer with mischief.

“They’re called Flaming Assholes.”

There’s a joke in there somewhere.

“Huh... interesting choice.”

“I know! And the best part is that I don’t even have to aim at their butts because they’re all asses anyways.” The woman’s toothy grin shows just how proud she is of all the life choices she made to lead to this phenomenal conversation.

Blake recalls those drinks and the rather inconvenient procedure it took to mix them. If this woman simply wanted to set people on fire then just picking up any bottle would do. But no.

This woman just had to be a bartender and she just had to mix the drinks first before setting them on fire even though ultimately they’ll be appreciated as much as people appreciate being thrown lighters at. She now has no doubt in her mind that this woman had priorities other than kicking out the occasional jerks.

She tries not to smile at this. She won’t give her the satisfaction.

“Did you meticulously mix a whole tray of needlessly complicated shots and then toss them out like molotov cocktails… just so you could get away with that joke?”

“ _Please_ , the real joke here are the sad lives that those slobs live,” The bartender retorts with a scoff. In the back of Blake’s mind, she notes that the woman has not denied the accusation.

“True but you are aware that the whole tray of shots _including_ property damage will be taken out of your salary, right?”

“Worth it.” The blonde punctuates this by catching her closed right fist in her left’s open palm in a victorious gesture. Her smirk certainly is a winner.

“You probably won’t be saying that once your boss officially deducts the losses,” Blake blandly points out.

She shrugs and with toungue-in-cheek knowing wisdom she imparts, “At the end of the day, there’s more to life than the numbers on your paycheck.”

“Only rich people say that,” Blake does not miss the opportunity to call her out.

But it only seems to goad her on. “Well I _heat_ to disappoint you but the only thing I’m rich of is hotness and my charming personality.”

The eye roll is less expected and more reflexive. Good to know that the new bartender has certain... preferences for humor.

“Charmed,” Blakes says with a face that is anything but.

Unfortunately, it does little to discourage her. “Oh, you haven’t even seen me _fired_ up yet!”

She swears her internal groan is so loud that even the blonde might have heard it. But then again, even if she did, she’ll probably take it as a compliment.

“Is there anything you _won’t_ set on fire?” She asks even though she probably knows the answer to that if this conversation is anything to gleam on.

“ _Ash_ me that question again when you want to confirm that.” The blonde winks in a way that’s hard to tell if she’s declaring her pyromaniac tendencies or she’s just flirting. Probably a mix of both, kind of like her earlier alcoholic drink.

A cocktail that’s just as dangerous as it is delicious.  Maybe just as addictive.

“Careful now, wouldn’t want you to get burned,” Blake warns although she thinks that maybe she’s telling herself this rather than the woman.

The blonde sees an opportunity and catches it with a wink. “Aww, so you do care!”

Blake feels her face almost instantaneously combust. She just had to walk into that one.

“Don’t you worry about me too much. I’m not the one who’s _burning up_. ”

The bartender’s not so discreet glance at Blake’s ears lets her know that it isn’t just her face that’s warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about revealing Yang's prosthetic arm (to Blake) for a later chapter but then I figured that Yang's not the type to hide things about herself. If she's handicapped then she's a proud handicapped! Oh, yeah. She just loves showing off.
> 
> Although I know it looks like it'll just be alternating chapters between the two ships, I assure you that it will not always be like that. As to why, well why don't you stick around me for the next two months.


	3. It's My Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss needs a second cup, she swears it's the coffee that she can't get enough of

This shouldn’t bother her so much but it does.

The rose latte tasted better than it should be allowed. Weiss glares at her now empty cup with a mix of disdain and dare she admit it... approval. She shudders at the thought. Whether it was from that backwards idea or from the lingering aftertaste, she would rather admit it was the former. She can still taste the surprisingly delightful concoction on her lips. It was without a doubt, sweeter than her usual order but that just surprised her all the more at how much she enjoyed the rosy drink.

She bites her lip and checks the time. It’s too late to fit another cup into her schedule for today but tomorrow, tomorrow she’ll have her cup of coffee like always.

Except tomorrow comes but it isn’t like her always. Her always is a sharp schedule working like clockwork and punctuated by a tall drink of Americano. Today her always is the exception. But that isn’t quite right. Exceptions mean that it’s only happened once or sporadically. Twice in a row is coincidence. Today her coincidence comes in the form of a much too cheerful woman with eyes that sparkle like freshly polished silverware.

She wonders if maybe this will become a pattern.

Weiss hasn’t quite decided on what to feel at the sight of the new barista. She worries for the standards of the cafe and a part of her worries if that says something about her _own_ standards. But a treacherous part of her is apparently in favor of starting the day with a stranger’s smile. She has a lovely smile by the way. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t hate the order mixup despite the infuriating circumstance. Even Weiss knows better to appreciate art.

But this is no museum to pin artworks. This is simply a coffee shop and she feels as if it is her duty to uphold some standards.

"I see that you are still employed... against better judgement," She blandly greets her, if this could be even called a greeting.

"Yup!" If the barista understood the insinuation, she didn’t seem bothered at all.

"I take it that your only competent drink is still that latte," Weiss shoots another backhanded compliment just in case the last one went over her head.

"Yup!" She says with even greater pride than the last.

At this point, Weiss thinks that the barista must either have thick skin or just a thick skull. Either way, her jabs completely miss their mark. "Just so I understand. Is it just that latte?"

"Yup!" She pops the ‘p’ and Weiss’ eyes dart lower instinctively, entranced by the red and plump lips which made the sound. The barista, ignorant of the sudden shift in attention, continues, "I only do Rose Lattes! It's my specialty! Or really, my only coffee-based skill!" She chuckles slightly and the sound breaks Weiss from her unexpected trance.

She schools her flushed face, grateful that the woman hasn’t caught her staring. She clears her throat, "And how exactly are you performing your job here?"

"People really like my Rose Lattes?" She offers with the same confusion as Weiss felt at that statement. It’s good to know that Weiss isn’t the only one who finds her job arrangement strange if not impractical. The barista’s face scrunches up in an adorable fashion as if she has to physically move her face in order to think. "The manager at least says so, so..."

So the manager is not only aware of the unqualified barista but is also endorsing her continued employment? Weiss has half the mind to buy out the cafe just to correct such preposterous job practices. The other half of her mind reasons that she'll have to convince her board of directors and although she has no doubt that she'll succeed, the effort may be too much in comparison with the payoff of personal satisfaction. And what would she do then? Dismiss the new barista? What a preposterous waste of resources.

"Aaanyways!” The barista shakes her head in a gesture reminiscent of a dog. Her toothy grin just adds evidence to the fact that she just might be one. “Hi-yah! What will you be having today?"

Never mind the fact that she basically forgone the standard cafe good morning for a less than conventional greeting, Weiss wonders if she’s even aware how pointless her query is. As if she has any choice anymore.

"Just to reiterate— can you do anything other than the… Rose Latte?"

"Nope!"

"And I don't suppose there's anyone else to take the order."

"Nope!"

"Wonderful… Then I shall have an order of that," Weiss evenly declares, neither betraying joy at the prospect of tasting yesterday’s blend again nor giving away exasperation at the likelihood that this might be the only thing she’ll be drinking for a while. She’s surprised to note that the latter doesn’t fill her with as much dread as she thought it would. The drink isn’t something worth lamenting about. It does however still bother her how this unqualified woman keeps her job. It doesn’t matter how amazing her only drink is or how disarming her cheerful personality is, the clear lack of professional training has her unfit for the position.

"Cool! Can I get a name for that?"

" _May_ I."

The barista’s hand stills. She slowly eyes Weiss as seconds seemingly crawl between them. Above the sudden tension, she tentatively asks, "Uhhh, you may?"

It’s then that Weiss sorely feels the lack of caffeine in her system.

"No, you dolt! It's ‘ _may I’_ not ‘ _can I_ ’!" Weiss practically hisses. Really? This is literally elementary! There is no mercy in the glare she sends. She doesn’t understand why she has to deal with training this woman in basic grammar.

"Ohhhhh-kay?" She tilts her head at just the right angle that let Weiss know that she clearly didn’t get her grievances. Weiss swears that she does this on purpose to remind her of a puppy begging for mercy with their charms. And Weiss refused to submit to its effectiveness. The barista seems to at least catch on enough to correct herself, "So um… May? Mehh… May I get a name for that?"

"Weiss," She drops her name along with her payment. The clicking of her heels resound thicker as she walks off to wait at the farthest table she could find. Surely some distance will help her cool off.

Her eyes never leave her wristwatch as she counts the seconds that go by. Ten, thirty... A minute. Two minutes... Another twenty seconds. Twenty-one, twenty-two—

She loses count when the scent of roses assault her senses.

"Here ya go! One Rose Latte to go!"

It’s just as she remembers it. She gingerly takes the cup up close for inspection. The scent of freshly brewed coffee with just the faintest sweet slivers of roses is heavenly. Just breathing it in is enough to warm her up. And the artistry is just as exquisite as the one she’s had before. A rose painted unlike others she’s seen before. She turns the cup to better admire it from different angles. Unfortunately, something else comes to light.

Weiss sighs as her fingers drum an annoyed beat on the table. "Tell me, Ruby—"

"Hey, you know my name!" The barista interrupts with genuine awe bursting from her voice. If Weiss cared to pay attention she would have noticed just the slightest bit of trepidation in Ruby’s eyes but she’s too busy trying to make her statement. Ruby doesn’t let her finish as she bombards her with her own ramblings, “Did I give you my name? But that doesn’t make sense since I’m the one asking for names. How did you know my name?”

Weiss only dignifies her with a pointed look at her chest, or rather what’s on it (because it would be embarrassing and rude to stare at anywhere else in that area).

"Riiight. Name tag. Of course! Duh!" Ruby hits her head in a comical fashion that looks almost natural for someone as animated as her. Then as if suddenly conscious, she turns sheepish. "Sorry, I'm just not used to people knowing my name."

"As I'm sure is the status quo of the rest of the public," Weiss dryly comments. Apparently the direction of a conversation is also under the list of things that go awry when it comes to the barista. So she takes it upon herself to bring themselves back onto the matter at hand. Literally, in her hand. "Moving on, will you do me the honor of reading this?"

She stretches her hand until the cup is just within inches of Ruby’s face, closer than necessary, as Weiss reasons the dense girl just might miss her point.

"The logo?" Ruby pulls back only to have the cup in her face again.

“Try again,” Weiss grounds, unimpressed.

"Your... name?” Ruby scrunches up her face. “Wise?”

Sure enough, there written in scraggly letters was ‘ _Wise_ ’. The ‘i’ is dotted with a heart but Weiss is focusing on everything but it.

"Precisely. It reads as Wise."

"And?"

"And that this conversation will not be taking place if you had spelled it correctly the first time. Do you even know who I am? I'm Weiss—" _Schnee_ , she almost drops out of habit and that's the last thing she wants to drop right now. So she straightens herself and with a tone that demanded no less than perfection, she spells, "It's W-E-I-S-S, Weiss."

"Oh.” Because what else could Ruby say to that? It takes her a full second until she realizes that there’s actually a word for that. “Oh no! I'm so sorry! I-I didn't know!" She quickly apologizes and her hands wave around as frantic as her thoughts are. She narrowly misses the drink. “Sorry!” Her hand takes the cup without her thinking. But it does give her an idea. "Here, let me just..." She pulls out a marker from her apron and scribbles a few lines. "There! All fixed!"

_WEisSe_

It’s painfully obvious where she made the adjustments. The missing letters are squeezed at the top and bottom, haphazardly sandwiching the original script. It’s not as effective in hiding the typo, if anything, it just makes it all the more conspicuous. Why did she even use capital letters? It’s as if she wanted others to notice her spelling mistake.

"Wow, I can't even tell the difference,” Weiss makes a pointed effort to mismatch her words and her tone. If the sarcasm is obvious then it was rightfully so. After all that’s how unmistakeable her carelessly written name is.

"I'm really sorry. That was all on me," Ruby apologizes again and there is no dissonance there. She truly feels repentant for her blunder. "I still feel bad I messed up. Oh, I know! How about I treat you this cup? On the house!"

"Really?” Weiss raises an eyebrow at her.

“Really!” Ruby nods fervently.

“You're offering to pay for this cup... that I've _already_ paid for."

"Ack! Right! Sorry, I'm still new at this."

"Obviously."

"Well how about tomorrow's?" Ruby snaps her fingers at her brilliant proposal. "I mean you sound like a regular or at least I imagine that's how a regular talks. What with the haughty attitude and all.”

“Hey!”

“And you were here yesterday too! So I was thinking that maybe you come here every day or something regular enough. Maybe. Not like I specifically remembered you because you were bossy but I also remembered you since you were pretty _and_ bossy!”

There’s an awkward pause as the words echo between them. Weiss is dumbfounded. The discussion becomes heated for a different reason. She knows what she heard and while she is not opposed to such compliments, she is at a loss for words.

On the other hand, Ruby just figures out her embarrassing slip up. Her cheeks blush a rosy color which perfectly compliments the tips of her hair. She did not mean to blurt that out. “I mean… uhhhh, I’m not saying you’re not pretty, because you are by the way, pretty I mean— but that’s not the point!" She also did not mean to blurt that out either. She clamps a hand over her mouth just to stop incriminating herself any further.

When she refuses to speak after, Weiss takes pity upon her and steps in to save her from embarrassment no matter how… enlightening the insights are. She could revisit that interesting tidbit for another day. “Is there a conclusion to this inane chatter?”

That seems to get Ruby’s attention as she starts talking again, muffled. She pauses, confused at first until she suddenly remembers that her hand is still on her mouth. A giggle escapes her lips at her own silliness. And then her words follow, "Yeah, my point is that I still feel bad for screwing your name so let me pay for your next cup, whenever you come back."

"Giving away free drinks is poor business practice,” Weiss recites rather than turning down the obvious bribe.

“Really? I think it’s fair. I’ve been a poor barista to you so poor business is kind of a given, don’t ya think?” Ruby explains in a tone that was anything but purely business-like.“Besides, it’s just one free drink and it’s technically not free for me since you know, it’s coming out of my salary.”

Weiss wonders how long Ruby would last here with that laid-back attitude. She has the sneaking suspicion that this won’t be the last time Ruby will offer a free drink.

“That’s where it all starts. Careful now, you just might lose your job."

* * *

 _Ruby had just lost her job._   
  
_It's not entirely a new development but it's just as frustrating as it has been when she first found out. That's not exactly true. It's actually worse now. The fact was a slap in the face at first but she later on found out that it was less of a slap and more of a bomb that exploded right in her face. Were exploded faces obvious? They were. They were absolutely painful and painstakingly obvious._   
  
_And permanent looking._   
_  
_ _That last one hit her hard as she walked towards her next destination. With all the free time of an unemployed person and with the pocket money of someone burning her already depleting savings account, she could only afford to walk especially if she wanted to get a comfort dessert later. Which she did by the way. She badly_ needed the comfort.

 _As she trudged up towards their shared apartment, she couldn't help but feel her steps grow heavier with despondence. She was so not looking forward to the inevitable conversation she probably has heard before. She briefly wondered which iteration this would be. Thirty-sixth. That's way more than her age so no one can fault her for not trying! But trying won't land her a job and at this point, she's wondering if they were right and that she should quit._   
_  
Nope! Ruby Rose was not a quitter! _

_She didn't quit at anything. She didn't quit when she couldn't get that toy at the crane machine. She didn't quit when she failed her first exam ever. She didn't quit when they told her she couldn't beat the record for eating fastest at the ice cream parlor. She didn't quit at job hunting. And she certainly didn't quit at her last job._   
  
_They had fired her. And they made sure her entire career would go up in flames._   
  
_"Not to say that I don't love your surprise visits buuut since it's way too early for you to be asking me to call our pizza guy, I'm guessing that we're gonna skip the appetizer and dig right into the main course," Yang greeted her the moment she threw herself on the sofa face first with pure disregard to the horrible wrinkles that would put on her just ironed out suit. That was never a good sign. The blonde took her seat right beside her and patted her on the head like one would console a distressed dog. "So? Lay it on me, sis."_   
  
_Despite the aloofness in Yang's tone or perhaps because of it, Ruby always found it only natural for her to open up to her sister._   
  
_She wanted to tell her sister how unfair it was. She wanted to tell her how much of a disappointment her last job interview was. She wanted to tell her how hard she was trying and how harder she was failing. She wanted to tell her all of this..._   
  
_But she's already told her all of this before. It never gets easier._   
  
_So she tells her something else._   
  
_"UUUUUUGGGGGHHHH!" She groaned from the bottom most pit of her grievances which didn't sound as dramatic as she felt when it was muffled by the sofa. Ruby realized this soon enough and so she unceremoniously flipped herself. With a scowl, she made sure she was heard by the only other person in the room and maybe the next door neighbors, "Those... Those stupid BUTTHEADS!"_   
  
_"Woah! Way to drop the B-bomb, sis." Yang gasped in mock shock. It's hard for her sometimes to take her sister seriously when she swore like she's ten years younger but still, Yang knew that Ruby only ever swore when someone was truly unforgivable. So just like any overprotective sister, she cracked her left knuckles in a show of power. "Alright just let me get my bloodsuit on. You know the one that's easy to wash blood off? Yeah, that one. Then lead me to those asses that I swear I will kick so hard, they're going to talk shit with their mouths for real."_   
  
_"Eww, Yang. I did not need that mental image." Ruby practically grimaced at the thought. Although she did appreciate the sentiment behind it, she didn't think that would be much help anyways. "I don't think you can kick all of them even if I tell you."_   
  
_"Well not with that attitude," She retorted with a tone that sounded suspiciously as if she could actually pull it off. She probably would. But the last thing Ruby needed was to bail her sister out of jail._   
  
_She let out a sigh. She understood full well that this was just Yang's way of cheering her up. Except she didn't need cheering up. She needed a job._   
  
_"No one's hiring me, Yang." She looked away, ashamed._   
  
_Silence threatened to suffocate them for those few yet excruciatingly long seconds._   
  
_"Hey. Look at me," Yang spoke, all humor in her voice suddenly dropped. "Look at me," She repeated and when Ruby refused to follow. She hovered over her face until her sister had nowhere else to look but at her._   
  
_Ruby saw the words on her face before she even heard them._   
  
_"You did the right thing, Ruby."_   
  
_Yang echoed what she already believed in._   
  
_"I know I did the right thing," Her lips moved without conscious effort. She spoke as if reciting from memory. She spoke as if she has told herself this before. She spoke as if she tried to convince herself plenty of times the first week the incident happened. She spoke as if she tried to reason with herself every time her resume got rejected. She spoke and just like always when she opened her mouth, it was hard to stop the words from spilling, "It's just so STUPID that I got fired for it!"_   
  
_And it was stupid. Stupid and_ unfair. _She just did her job. She did her job right. She did her job_ justice _. She did what any decent human being would do. If they hadn't pulled out the car as it was right then and there, she knew that by the time the first engine failure gets reported, there would already be thousands unreported and then hundreds of accidents from them. It would take a specific threshold before the engine gets faulty but it was a highly probable one. Was it her fault that she spotted the possible failure late into the game? Maybe so but that didn't excuse them from refusing to inform the public about the hazard._   
  
_If she wanted to keep her job then all she had to do was keep her mouth shut. And if she wanted otherwise, they made it plenty clear that not only would she lose her job here, they would make it absolutely impossible to have her hired elsewhere. It was an ethical dilemma… but was it, really? It was a no brainer for her._   
  
_So she made her decision and they made theirs. She had saved thousands of lives with that but she had dug herself a professional grave._   
  
_"And as if losing my job wasn't bad enough, they fired my career!" She thought that at least_ someone _would hire her. If not for the higher moral ground of what she did, then maybe for her credentials. But she just had to go against a powerful company. And she_ had _to. She would do it all over again if given the choice. But that still didn't take away from the fact that she just might never work in her beloved field ever again. "What am I going to do with my life now? I'm practically banned from the only thing I'm ever good for!"_   
  
_"Stop that!" Yang snapped at her, effectively halting that downward spiral. She pulled up her sister from the sofa and into a sitting position, never breaking eye contact. What Ruby lacked in confidence, Yang more than made up for and she was more than willing to impart some. "You are Ruby Rose. You're more than just a dummy tester engineering prodigy!"_   
  
_"Safety engineer actually..." Ruby corrected her under her breath._   
  
_"Screw them!" Yang continued as if she wasn't just interrupted. "If no one hires you then fine! That's_ their _loss! But you shouldn't think that this is your_ only _professional strength."_   
  
_"It doesn't change the fact that this might be the only thing I love to do that I can get paid for..." Ruby muttered as low as she felt about it which was an all time low._   
  
_"What? Pssh!" Yang goodnaturedly patted her on the back. "C'mon, Rubes! You're more talented than that! There's plenty of other careers you could just as easily see yourself doing for the rest of your life and with checks to cash!"_   
  
_"Really...? Like what?" Ruby asked with such a small and fragile voice. She may be a bundle of positive energy but even she had her limits. And it sounded like she was down to her last few drops. Yang knew better than to crush her hopes with anything less than a serious answer._   
_  
"Like... We could… uhhh… " Yang stumbled as she racked her brain for what other things that her sister probably loved and that would pay._

_Think. What else did Ruby like to do? She quickly sifted through memories like flipping pages through a book and hoping a picture or a paragraph would stand out. She's just about to begin her fourth sift through when she finally found the page she's been looking for._

_A battered old guitar which was too big for a seven year old stringing broken notes, trying to mend something broken beyond repair._

_"Like we could... form our own band?"_   
  
_There's a pregnant pause that stretched the sudden awkwardness between them._   
  
_"Yang, are you asking or are you suggesting?" Ruby asked, skeptic and giving her sister the chance to still redeem herself._   
  
_"No, for reals," Yang said with surprising seriousness that she even caught herself off guard. But she followed through. "Let's start our own band."_   
  
_Ruby made a face that clearly said that she thought she was making this up. And to a certain extent, she's not wrong. Yang's making this up as she goes. But she's also a woman of her words. So if she's going to wing something then she'll wing it_ hard _. She'll wing it until it works out._   
  
_"...Really? A band?" Ruby asked in disbelief. She may be desperate but she's not_ that _desperate. "How will we even make this work?"_   
  
_"You still know how to play guitar, right?" Yang paused to see her sister quietly bob her head. "And you still have those songs you wrote, yeah? Don't pretend you never did because I've seen those papers!"_   
  
_"E-Everyone has written at least one song in their life and you know it!" Ruby spluttered as her cheeks took on the color of her namesake. She held an accusing finger at her sister. "Besides, you don't even know how to play any instruments!"_

_"Then I'll learn!"_

_"We don't have a singer."_

_"Last time I checked, our vocal chords were ama-_ sing _!"_

_"And my stage fright?"_

_"Eh, we'll workshop on that later."_

_"My old guitar's busted and we still have to get you something. Where are we going to get the money for that?"_

_"Easy! We'll just get some other jobs!" Yang announced as if it was the most logical thing in the world and as if it was the easiest of tasks— both of which it was not. "I mean_ I _already have a job— not to rub it in your face or anything, no offense." ‘None taken’, Ruby conceded. "If I play my guns right then I'll be raking in those sweet tips every night enough to get something from the thrift store."_

_"So... We're going to get a job... to afford this other job?"_

_"Glad to see we're on the same page!"_

_Ruby’s face scrunched up at that nonsense. It wasn’t a fun nonsense either. It was just confusing nonsense. It was like getting a voltmeter then selling it just to get another voltmeter which basically did the same thing. She didn’t need that a second voltmeter, she just needed to measure the voltage with_ one _!_

_"Yang, what do you even get from this? You said it yourself. You already have a job.”_

_"Puh-lease! What job?" She scoffed as if offended by the completely valid question._

_"Yang..." Ruby bit her lip, hesitating. She knew about how Yang felt with her new job or rather, she knew how she felt about her old job. She knew that there were some topics that need time to heal. She knew better than to tear open stitches... or point out something that's been torn apart whole._

_"Not to say that I don't love the whole alcohol mixing jig, which I do because free drinks on the job, am I right?" Yang wagged her eyebrows as Ruby rolled her eyes in response. "But it's not really a permanent thing. This is just cheap thrills, ya know? I’m gonna need something bigger for my crazy_ Yang _-tics!"_

 _If Ruby noticed how Yang had subconsciously touched her right elbow, just at the imperceptible seam where flesh met metal_ _—_ _she didn’t say._

_"And you think playing in a band has the same thrill as jumping off a skyscraper while on fire?"_

_"Hmmm, close enough." She shrugged indifferently. But what she said next was anything but. "Ruby what's there to overthink? You need this. I want this. We both can and will pull this off. What’s stopping us from living our lives?”_

_What_ is _stopping them? Why_ couldn’t _they just live however they wanted to?_

 _"So what do you say? Ready to rock out those_ band _-annas?"_

_What could Ruby say? Her mind scrambled to grasp something out of the sudden flurry of thoughts. And she had to make the decision now? But there were too many things to consider! She’s not sure what even half of those were about. Still, one thing stood out in her head from the rest. And she just had to say it._

_"Are bandannas supposed to be like band bananas?"_

_But she did eventually say yes to the band._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say band origin story? I did!
> 
> When I'm not slowly toasting my ships, I'm setting the characters on fire- some literally and some metaphorically through backstory. This whole chapter is just an elaborate ploy for the whiterose to know each other's names and THEN it'll slightly burn faster. But only slightly. Maybe.
> 
> Next up, we're really kicking up the burn with our pyromaniac bae!


	4. Armed and Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake says she can quit drinking anytime she wants to

_She wasn’t the type to take anything while lying down._

_And yet here she was, lying down, and with the worst hangover ever. Huh, that was weird. She didn’t remember getting hammered before this._

_Actually, she couldn’t remember anything that happened previously. And why did her body feel like goddamn lead? Even her eyelids refused to cooperate. What the hell had she been drinking to get smashed this bad?_

_She tried again, this time with brute force or the closest thing to brute force in her drugged state. She only managed to crack open her eyes but the light struck piercing them and so she squeezed them much tighter. Maybe waking up was a bad idea after all._

_“Yang..?”_

_Someone called out her name. That’s when she remembered that she had other senses to rely on. Never mind her eyes, she focused on her ears this time. It’s then that she realized that something was wrong with them too._

_Everything sounded too distant. It sounded as if someone was cupping her ears closed, sounds muffled by trapped air whirling storms of their own. But that wasn’t right. It didn’t feel like anyone was cupping her ears._

_Hell, she couldn’t even feel her ears! Well that was a depressing thought. She grimaced or she would have if she could only feel her face too._

_“Hey, if you’re awake… please, wake up.”_

_Then she suddenly remembered a face to put on that voice. It was the most precious face in the entire world, at least to Yang. It was the face of someone who always looked up to her and she would do everything just to protect that innocent soul. It was the only face capable of smiling bright and bringing in everyone else to smile with her._

_It was Ruby. But it sounded like the face that Ruby was making was not something Yang wanted on her ever.  She sounded so small, so scared…. so weak._

_And Yang had to be strong for Ruby. Always._

_“H… He…. Hey…”_

_God everything_ hurt _! After pushing through the blanket of numbness over her body, she was only rewarded with pain. Karma must be a bitch like that. But screw karma and screw pain, Yang’s tougher than shit!_

_So what if her eyes felt like melting when she opened them? She’s stared at worse things than a fluorescent lamp! So what if her throat scratched and bled when she tried to speak? She’s swallowed drinks that tasted worse than her own blood! So what if her lungs burned like hell when she started gasping? She’s been set on fire seven times in a single day! Fuck that! She’s getting up on this bed and taking Ruby home._

_“Yang! You’re… You’re awake! W-Wait! Stop! Don’t push yourself!”_

_The voice became clearer now but she’s not quite there yet. There was still this weird ongoing thing happening with her. Her body sunk like a rock but her head was floating in the clouds. For as much as her body refused to move its place, her mind was leaving her, if it hasn’t ran off already.  She’s only barely holding onto the thought of Ruby. Like tunnel vision, nothing else existed in her mind._

_She didn’t think it was possible but Yang thought that maybe she forgot how to think. The air in her ears must have gotten further in since there’s this static in her brain. Sharp, grating, blank static. And just like with any other static, she tuned it out._

_With her head as a lost cause, that left the rest of her body._

_“You’re supposed to be resting! No, don’t get up_ _—”_

_She reached out upon instinct, an attempt to wave off her sister’s concerns,_

_Only to find out why her right arm felt lighter yet heavier at the same time._

_Then static._

_“You’ve been out of it for a week.”_

_Seven days. They told her that she was in a hospital bed for a week apparently but she’s not sure. She didn’t remember spending those past seven days or anything else before that either. They called it a coma. She wondered if she was here for longer and if they were lying to make her feel better. Her dad and sister was there and they looked as though she left them for seven months instead. But they reassured her it was_ just _seven days._

_Seven days gone just like that._

_Those seven days weren’t the only things she had lost and they wouldn’t be the last either._

_“It happened at your work. It was… an accident.”_

_They told her about the accident and she believed them but she didn’t necessarily remember it, at least not yet. Even when pain seeped back into her bones and bruises, the numbness stayed in her head. The goddamn static was still there, mocking her. She couldn’t remember what had happened. Their words gave her a picture but she couldn’t pin the memory on it._

_It came back to her in pieces just like how she came back after the surgery._

_Something hit her. It came out of nowhere. She didn’t even remember if she raised her arm to protect herself or if it just so happened to be like that. But she remembered how useless that was anyways as she was thrown off by the force._

_It felt like a goddamn truck hit her. It was at that moment that her body was no longer hers to control. She didn’t know how far she’d been flung but she remembered hitting the ground at some point, maybe rolling even but she couldn’t be sure. Her eyes were shut the whole time and maybe that was the only mercy in this._

_If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen all the blood, all of_ her _blood. And she would have seen her arm crushed beyond recognition just like the picture they showed her later on._

_Further back, she recalled, trying to capture where it went wrong instead of the moment that it inevitably did. She was moving. No, that wasn’t quite right. She was standing there at first but her whole body was going at great speeds. She was on top of a moving truck. There were others there with her. She struck a pose and then started fighting against everyone else._

_Throwing punches, sweeping feet, sidestepping jabs, roundhouse kicks… She did them all with practiced ease. She fought until everyone was either down or thrown off the truck. Alone she stood, the victor. It would have been a crowning moment for her too if only she wasn’t struck down by something else._

_She had long accepted that there were risks to her job. Hell, she had even signed up for those risks. But she didn’t think she would go down like this. Not like this._

_The thing that struck her like judgement from a colossal hammer and sure as hell hurt like one turned out to be the camera equipment. It wasn’t supposed to be there. On cue, it was supposed to move out of the way just like it had during the previous takes. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t expected the impact. If she knew then she would have dodged that easily._

_But no one could have known, at least that’s what they told her. Machine malfunction was unpredictable and shitty like that._

_All her years of being a stuntwoman and a fucking camera ended her career._

_And all the days that followed were torture and all the nights that came after were nightmares. It was a reshowing of the same movie every time she closed her eyes. The stage was always set on the place she couldn’t ever forget no matter how much she damn wanted to._

_But this movie was set apart from the rest she’s ever worked in. Because she wasn’t just substituting for a few select high risk shots. For once, she was the main actress and she played as herself._

_Then the spotlight shone on her and it was so bright, brighter and brighter_ _—_

_Until it fucking hits her._

_She’d wake up but not really. This too was part of the movie, part of the nightmare. The end of a sleeve was rolled up and tied into a ball where the rest of her right arm should be. Maybe a part of her heart was lost in that accident too. It sure felt like it._

_“You got out pretty lucky.”_

_Everyone kept telling her how lucky she was. She certainly didn’t feel like it._

* * *

She didn’t feel like drinking tonight and yet here she is.

Now here’s the thing. Let it be known that Blake is not an alcoholic. Sure she enjoys a stiff drink every once in a while meaning once a month _at most_ but never twice. And never twice on consecutive nights. Which brings her back here against all odds, in a bar on her second night, about to order a drink,.

She may be here for more than just the alcohol but she can’t exactly order _that_.

"Oh, hey! Just the woman I've been waiting for!"

So it would seem that it isn’t just her looking for the other. And as if that isn’t surprising enough, the said woman does something just as unexpected but not entirely out of character. She watches as the debonair bartender vaults across the counter and takes a seat right beside Blake. She turns toward her in one swift motion, her golden mane sweeping gloriously behind her, mesmerizing like crackling fire.

Now without the counter hiding the lower half of her body, Blake studies the rest of the bartender’s profile. Where her fiery hair ended, the rest of her vest continued, long and splitting into two tails of cloth and almost touching the floor. It serves no other purpose other than to be flamboyant and it served well. Skinny jeans hugged her thighs and confirmed that she’s just as fit down there as she is up top. And to top it off, she wore knee high boots that just screamed ‘for kicking ass’, Blake almost hears the playful voice. Yes, everything about this woman is loud and that includes her wardrobe.

At least her clothes aren’t on fire. She had a feeling that if the bartender could get away with wearing clothes on fire unharmed, she wouldn’t wear anything else.

"Like what you see?" The bartender languidly leans forward and Blake makes a pointed effort not to stare at anything below chin level. But the woman’s coy smile tells her that she’s already caught her ogling. "Take a _pitcher_. It'll last longer."

Whatever trance she’s in is broken by her own internal cringe. She had almost forgotten about how this woman loved puns just as much as she played with fire. But now that she’s been painfully reminded, it conveniently sets her back on track.

"Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the counter?" She smoothly changes the topic with a raised eyebrow.

"Not when I’m on break!"

"And since when is your break?"

"Just now!"

"Okay...?" They both know that there’s no way her shift ends right on this odd numbered minute but she’s not about to call her out on that. She does however point out other concerns, "You do know that there’s basically no bartender serving right now."

"I know right? Where’s a hot bartender when you need one?" The slacking off bartender quips with a toothy grin.

"Too bad there aren't any here." Just to drive her point home, she looks at her dead set in the eyes. With her expression unreadable, it’s hard to tell whether she’s joking or not, but the line still cuts sharp.

"Wow.” She blinks and gapes. Then the moment passes and she whistles lowly. “Now _that_ burns."

"So...“ She nonchalantly continues as if she didn’t just drop the sickest burn of the night, “Since you're here does that mean I won't get any drinks mixed? Because there's another bar down the block with an actual bartender on the clock—" She makes a move to get up but stops when right on cue, the other woman calls her out in a panic.

"Hey, wait!" She half shouts and Blake complies. She waits but not without expectation, her stare is sharp and quietly demanding. The bartender sighs and vaults back across the counter, this time with less gusto and more grumbling. "Fine. I'll mix us up a couple of drinks just to get the night going."

"Just us? What about the rest of your patrons?" Even though Blake is the one who points this out, she only now notices the many disgruntled customers who look half wanting to squeeze the bartender for a drink and half terrified of incurring her wrath should they attempt. It seems that the pyromaniac has earned herself an interesting reputation among them.

"Eh, I'll let Junior handle it." She casually passes on the responsibility just like that. It’s also important to note that the said person is not present within the establishment but the blonde shrugs that off too. "Besides, it'll be like I'm your personal bartender for the night! Minus the fee of course!" She flirtatiously winks. "Your company is payment enough."

There’s a warmth underneath Blake’s skin that’s trying to burst through her cheeks. Fortunately, she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol yet for her control to slip. Her face remains stoic enough to pass herself off as unaffected. "It's like you're trying to get kicked out of your job."

"What can I say? I make _pour_ decisions," She proudly declares with a grin. Even though the eye roll she gets is a sign of her poor life choices, she doesn’t let it cramp her style. "Well as your personal sexy bartender, what would you like to order first?"

While Blake agrees that she is indeed a sexy bartender, she makes no comment about it. Instead she replies, "I don't have anything specific in mind. I was gonna go for tonight's recommendation."

"Then I’ve got just the drink to warm you up!” Her eyes instantly light up as she starts reaching for bottles and glasses. “Have you ever had Pumpkin Pie?"

Pumpkin Pie turns out to be not a pie nor does it have any pumpkin in it at all.

It’s a three-layered shot glass of Kahlua, Bailey’s Irish cream, and tequila on top. Then like all of her specialty drinks, it gets set on fire. She has to wonder if this drink is meant to be set on fire or if the bartender just _really_ loves to set all drinks on fire regardless. There’s also a dash of cinnamon which makes the flame crackle and she drinks in the playful dance of the flame reflected on the blonde’s eyes.

She has never had a slice of pumpkin pie but as she downs this drink with that moniker, she wonders if the taste is anything similar.

" _Ale_ yeah! That's some good booze!" The bartender whoops as soon as her shot glass slams hard on the counter, bottom up.

There’s a reason why alcohol is called liquid courage, or so Blake believes in it when she looks up to the blonde at her peak confidence. And for the third time that night, the bartender vaults across the counter yet again, this time more dramatic than the last. She happily takes back her seat from earlier and grins in a way that makes Blake feel as if she’s just downed another warm and intoxicating shot.

"So I'm just gonna go in strong and _flask_ you a question..."

"No. Stop." Her face instantly hardens because she won’t be taken seriously otherwise.

"But you didn't hear my question yet!" She pouts and she even has the gall to look both hurt and adorable at the same time.

"Didn't need to. Already heard the pun," Blake answers sternly. She’s heard more puns than she’s had drinks tonight and she doesn’t want to take that challenge of outdrinking the puns as they come. "If you want a decent conversation with me then you gotta reel in the puns."

"I can't just stop the puns. It's literally impossible. It's like asking the sun to stop shining!"

"Technically the sun will stop shining at some point. A very far away point but the point still stands that it will still stop."

"Well okay, not my best analogy!" She admits, hoping she would be let off easy like that but Blake’s judging stare is relentless. She caves in with a groan. "Okay, fiiine. I’ll pull back on the puns.” The mischievous glint in her eyes say otherwise though.

“There, are you _hoppy_ now?"

"Last chance," She warns and makes a threatening move to get up.

The woman instantly straightens in her seat and then she makes a zipping motion with her hand over her mouth. "Yup, taking the hint. Zipping up."

A stunning moment of silence from the blonde fills the gap between them. Satisfied that she would uphold her end of the deal, Blake proceeds to be civil again.

"Alright, so what were you hoping to ask me?"

It’s the closest thing to initiating conversation by Blake and she tries not to think too hard on how that makes the bartender light up as much as the drinks she serves.

"Think I could get a name? I can't keep calling you ' _tall, dark haired, and pretty lady_ ' because wow, that's just so long!” She may have reeled in the puns but that didn’t mean she’s going to hold back on anything else. Her toothy grin is devastatingly _hot_. “I'm Yang by the way."

"Hello, Yang." She answers evenly despite the traitorous blush on her face. "It's Blake."

"Blake... Blake..." Yang tastes her name on her tongue like fine wine, savoring the syllables in her mouth. Meanwhile Blake tries hard to appear unaffected at the satisfying sound of her name from this gorgeous woman’s lips. The very same lips which are curved into a disarming smile directed right at her now. "Hey, Blake. Want to hear an ice- _Blake_ r?"

Not for the first time tonight, Blake wonders why she even bothers with her.

"This must be my worst drunk mistake ever."

"Hey! You’re not even drunk yet! Plus I think it was genius!"

"You think all of your puns are genius."

"Well, can't go wrong if it's a fact of life!" Yang declares it with so much confidence that it might as well be true. "Anyways, now it's your turn to ask me a question!"

"We're still doing this?" She asks out loud even though the question is mostly directed at herself. She’s not usually one to play twenty questions with a stranger but here she is with Yang.

"Yup! And that last one doesn't count!" She giddily insists.

"Then..." Well there is something that Blake’s been meaning to ask but she thinks it might be too soon. So she blatantly stares at it first, quietly asking for permission. Yang follows her line of sight and unlike the flames she adores so much, her carefree smile never falters. It’s all the permission she could get and with that she finally asks,

"Is it okay if I look at your hand?"

There’s an unmistakable beat of silence that makes the beating of Blake’s heart resound louder.

"Woah, never figured you to be the forward type." Yang laughs as if she didn’t expect the inquiry at all. Her laugh sounds like a cool tall glass of water, absolutely refreshing. And Blake wonders if Yang herself is refreshed by her request because she certainly looked like it.

But the fact remains that she didn’t technically permit. "Then that's a no?" Blake feels her head tilt as her gaze falls. She won’t say that she didn’t expect the refusal but she can’t help but still be a bit disappointed when it comes.

"Aww, damn. I didn’t even know that the kicked puppy look works well with kittens too." She makes a show of sighing but the playful glint in her eyes tell her that it’s all in good humor. There isn’t even an ounce of hesitation when she practically offers both her arms out. This too is part of the humor since they both know which hand is more interesting than the other. "Knock yourself out."

Unlike Yang, she doesn’t jump into action headfirst. Even with the explicit permission given, her hands stop just an inch before touching the right hand, eyes glancing up to ask once again. Yang reassures her with another one of her grins and Blake doesn’t miss how this one is different from the others she’s been throwing around. It’s softer around the edges, sheepish. Pleased, but short of shy. It’s strange but Blake finds a bit of courage at the realization that she isn’t the only nervous one.

It’s the last push she needs to take the hand before her.

Cold, the back of the prosthetic is cold metal under her touch. There’s a frown on her lips when she thinks of how this bartender prefers fire hazards when her own prosthetic is a much too effective conductor of heat. She pushes down the memory of Yang telling her about poor life choices and pushes further down the pun that came along with it.

She runs her thumbs across the padded palm and is surprised at the leathery feel. The change in texture makes sense to help with grip, she supposes. She then deftly inspects the fingers next, curling and unfurling each one with meticulous attention.

They move just as smoothly, if not smoother, as regular fingers do and she feels ridiculous when she expects them to sound mechanical but instead they’re just as quiet as regular fingers too.

The whole hand feels lighter than she expects, almost delicate despite the hardness of its material. She gives it a good squeeze and unlike flesh, the prosthetic refuses to soften. Her eyes map across the hand and trail further up to where wrist meets sleeve. The sleeve must have slid higher from her ministrations because she sees more metal underneath.

How tempting. Her innate curiosity dictates her to pull up the sleeve and find out where exactly does the metal end but she restrains herself. She’s already imposed enough. She sneaks a glance up, curious as to how Yang is taking this.

She’s surprised to find Yang looking at their hands with the same awe that Blake feels.

"Thanks." Blake finally releases the hand with a small but grateful smile.

"Pfft! That's it?” Yang snorts and falls back to her playful nature. Whatever trance they were in, they make no move to mention it. Instead, she brings them back to light banter, “Not even gonna ask about my tragic backstory?"

She shrugs and plays along, "Don’t want you asking about _my_ tragic backstory after."

"Ohhhh, now I'm curious!" She leans in, teasing.

For a moment, she wonders if Yang will ask her anyways. She’s already the loud and boisterous type so it wouldn’t be too surprising if she’s the prying type too. She’s a bartender after all, it’s practically part of her job description.

But the moment passes and instead Yang says, "But I'll save that for the third date!"

"A third what now?" Her ears almost simultaneously combust. Sure, Blake could deal with the typical hand holding (even though that’s technically _not_ what it sounds like, yes there were hands and yes there was holding involved but not _hand holding_ ) but anything romantic that’s explicitly stated and she loses her balance. "Third... date?"

"Yeah, because last night was our first date and tonight is our second date!" With her prosthetic hand, she snaps her fingers into a finger gun and Blake quietly files that information for later should it ever come up.

"I wasn't aware," She replies in her perfectly practiced flat tone but her red ears betray her flustered feelings.

"That's how you know you had a good time!" She reasons with a laugh. Blake would have argued against that. A good time is by nature, memorable. But before she could even defend her case, Yang has already moved on. "Okay, my turn again!"

She drums her fingers against the counter for a while, long enough for Blake to recognize a rhythm.

_Clackclackclack-clack-clack-clackityclack._

Her foot almost taps in synch to the beat. Meanwhile Yang doesn’t even seem to be aware of her impromptu percussion solo or the fact that she has a listening audience. The beat is slow and steady at first, rhythmic. Maybe something similar is going on in her head, Blake thinks. But soon the tempo rises and her heart can’t help but beat just as fast.

_Clackityclackity-clack-clackity. Thump-ba-thump-thumpthump._

The beat is catchy and she can’t help but fall in synch.

Faster, louder, wilder.

The anticipation builds up. The sounds echo loud as if they play her eardrums but if anything, it’s her heart beating between her ears. The drumming picks up the pace,

Until it stops altogether. And for a moment, Blake thinks her heart might have stopped too at the way Yang looks at her as if she’s the most beautiful person in the room.

"Could I borrow your hand?"

She blinks. The unexpected question resounds deafeningly between her ears. Blake gets why she would ask that of Yang but she doesn’t see the logic of having the roles reversed.

"Why?"

"Nuh-uh! That's not how this works.” She tuts and taunts her. “You gotta answer the question first."

She’s not entirely sure what to make of the request or how she feels about it but since Yang has been such a good sport, Blake figures that she should too. So she relents, "...Sure."

"Thanks! Don't mind if I do!" Yang leans just a bit closer, her right prosthetic hand stretching to make a grab.

And then she turns it into a feint as she takes one of Blake’s hands with her left hand instead.

Blake squeaks in surprise when she feels her hand squeezed experimentally. Her eyes shoot up to Yang’s playful gaze. She’s obviously enjoying this payback and Blake isn’t one to grumble, not out loud at least. Unlike Blake’s meticulous inspection, Yang skips all those motions. She just holds her hand normally. In the back of Blake’s mind, she wonders if this was all just an excuse to hold her hand. She isn’t about to complain on it.

Their hands stay like that for a while.

It’s surprisingly comfortable, whatever this is between them. She realizes that she just might enjoy Yang’s quiet moments as much as she does her loud ones. However, admitting that would be another matter entirely. In the stillness of it all, her attention keeps getting drawn back to their hands.

Despite Yang’s violent tendencies, there’s nothing but tenderness in her touch and perhaps just a bit of shyness. She recalls the feel of the prosthetic from a while ago. She then compares that to this, and how soft and warm this hand is.

This hand that’s warm and comforting like a much needed fire during a cold night.

Yang raises both of their joined hands with a goofy smile plastered on her much too happy face.

"Has anyone told you that you're too hot to _hand_ le?"

Whatever heat was building up between them is suddenly doused by a cold shower.

"And you just had to ruin it." Blake pulls her hand out of the grip with a groan.

“I think this is the be- _gin-_ ning of a beautiful relationship!” She sends a flirtatious wink that would make any woman swoon if only they could get past the pun.

“Friendship,” She corrects, pointedly ignoring how her hand still tingles and how maybe a bit of the warmth from there has escaped to her cheeks.

“I know what I said.” Yang wags her eyebrows suggestively and unabashed.

Yes, this is a woman who knows what she wants and who is bold enough to ask for it out loud.

And then there’s Blake who’s clearly too sober for this.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask you to fix me another drink.”

* * *

_Some things can’t be fixed without hurting in the process._

_She went back to Patch… to_ patch _herself up._

_At first her sister had insisted on coming home with her but Yang refused. She had already lost her job and the last thing she wanted was for Ruby to stop working too. It took some convincing, mostly from their father since Yang was still too out of it at the time, but Ruby eventually relented since she wouldn’t be technically alone given that their father would be with her. Again, she was too depressed at that time to appreciate just how much the extra company would have made all the difference. But she would appreciate it, eventually._

_“You're Yang Xiao Long. You can do whatever you put your mind to. So whenever you're ready to stop moping and get back out there, I'll be there for you.”_

_She was deadweight but her father looked at her like she was anything but that. Everyone kept giving her looks of pity, everyone including herself. But not her father. He saw something in her and he never stopped reminding her that._

_Maybe it was the repetition. Maybe it was the fact that he genuinely believed in it. Maybe it was because some small part of her wanted to believe in it too. But whatever the reason, it just_ stuck _. It stuck in a way that was hard to ignore._

 _It stuck until slowly, painfully,_ eventually, _she started to believe in herself too._

_It was difficult. Living your whole life with a full set of limbs, functioning perfectly normal, and then one day you wake up with one missing and everything’s gone to shit. She didn’t realize just how much of her everyday life was fucked up all because she didn’t have half of her right arm anymore. Even the most basic of tasks such as eating suddenly became a chore._

_Everything was suddenly oh so difficult._

_It was difficult but not impossible._

_Things she used to have two hands for, she had to relearn to do with only using her left. But she did learn them. Even though it took her twice as long to get it, even when she couldn’t get it at first, even though she still couldn’t get it sometimes, she learned how to, eventually. And as her body learned how to function again, her mind followed soon._

_She started looking at herself less as someone completely disabled to someone who was only handicapped._

_There’s a joke in there somewhere and maybe, just maybe, it was a little bit funny._

_“Brand new, state of the art prosthetics tech. You know, I thought I was gonna have to pull some strings, call in a few favors, but you earned this one all on your own, kiddo. This wasn’t covered in your health insurance but everyone who knew you chipped in to get this made. A lot of people have your back. You should be proud of yourself.”_

_She was just starting to get used to having only one arm that it didn’t even occur to her that she could have two arms again._

_Then two months later she suddenly had a new arm. Even though she was there and awake when they fitted her beforehand, she didn’t think it was real. She didn’t think it would happen. Even when they slipped it on her for the first time, it still didn’t_ _feel real._

_Metal disguised as a forearm connected with her skin._

_After months of having only a bunched up sleeve hanging from her right arm, the new weight pulling on her elbow felt foreign. She watched as metal fingers twitched upon her silent command, a millisecond delay only solidifying how surreal this all felt._

_No, this was real but it just didn’t feel like it._

_That’s because it all felt fake._

_She hated this fake arm and how it reminded her of everything she lost. When she had worn it for the first time, it felt different. Of course it would, it_ was _different. It was then that she realized how her mind had never truly caught up. She was painfully aware that she lost her arm but when she started to be able to do things fine that way, she didn’t_ feel _that she lost that much._

_But when something filled in the empty place where she had lost something just as precious, she felt as though she had lost it all over again._

_The heavy weight of the prosthetic arm was not reassuring. It was just_ heavy _._

_She didn’t want this fake arm and she could forget about getting to use two arms again. She didn’t think it was possible but regaining control over two arms was suddenly too much. And there was now less of her to handle too much. She’d take feeling empty over feeling overwhelmed any day. She knew she was being stupid. It was stupid that she was refusing to use the prosthetic, denying herself this chance to be better._

_But fuck, she was just so bitter to want anything better._

_“You’re gonna be alright. It's just gonna take some time for you to get used to things but you’re gonna be fine. You’re too strong to let this stop you.”_

_Funny, she didn’t feel strong though._

_But strength wasn’t just a feeling as she later found out for herself. Strength was in the decisions one chooses and the actions one takes._

_She refused to wear that prosthetic arm any longer than necessary for the tests. Then she never wore it again for the rest of that day._

_Two weeks later, she changed her mind. Her father played his part by badgering her about it every day since but she liked to think that it was mostly her decision. So she wore it for the second time and this time was different. It’s funny, she remembered it being so heavy the first time she wore it but now it only felt… just there._

_Just there now being a part of her, just existing. And she thought, maybe it wasn’t so bad._

_It’s only when she had dinner for the first time using her new arm that she remembered how she had forgotten how easier it was to eat with two arms._

_And so she settled with the thought that she could get used to this._

_“My sunny little dragon! When you’re not losing your own arms, you’re busy twisting someone else’s arms.”_

_It surprised her how she took that joke better than she thought she would. At first it was just a slight twitch of the lips. Then her lips were pulled into a smile. And when she opened her mouth, laughter spilled._

_Honest to goodness laughter._

_God it felt like_ forever _since the last time she laughed at a good joke. Or laughed at all. It felt so damn good to laugh again. It felt like she had recovered a part of herself. It felt like she was finally unbroken._

_And that’s how she knew for sure. She knew her confidence was growing ever so steadily. She knew her strength was back and reforged. She knew she was getting better when she could finally joke about it._

_So yeah, it sucked that she lost an arm and her dream job along with it but at least she didn’t give up an arm and a leg for it. Get it?_

_“Watch out world! Cause I’m armed and ready!”_

_She almost died in that accident but she lived._

_Her life won’t ever be the same but she’s learned to live with it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it always gets worse before it gets better so there there. Hit me with that supportive father-daughter bonding.
> 
> This was a bit harder to write because I wanted to express that inner conflict during the recovery process where one knows it's fundamentally better yet still denies oneself the chance to be better. On the other hand, the flirting part was way easier.
> 
> I debated on whether or not I should do the title drop but given that this is Yang, it actually fits better like that. Hope you think so too!


	5. Red Like Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss realizes that the scent of roses may not just be from the latte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **We hit 100 kudos!** So here's a kudos from me to everyone who's read this and stuck around: an early update! 
> 
> **Shoutout to everyone who has left kudos and _especially comments! You the real MVPs._ Thank you for giving me life!**
> 
> Hope you enjoy this special chapter!

Sometimes though, it doesn’t hurt to break routine.

It’s been a couple of weeks of clocking late hours in the office and bringing home paperwork but they’ve finally made it past through the deadline for this quarter’s reports. A reward for all that hard work is in order. Well being responsible of the largest supplier of coffee beans in the industry is a reward in itself but having the weekends to herself is a close second.

So naturally, when Weiss isn’t out drinking coffee for her job then she’s out drinking coffee for leisure.

Every cafe is checked out by her or at least that has been a personal goal of hers. And with the headquarters of SBC in this city, there’s always a new cafe opening up every now and then. Today she visits a quaint cafe a little over the skirts of the city. She’s read good reviews but of course the only credible opinion she believes in is hers.

She opens the door to the delectable aroma of baked pastries. She almost forgets that she’s here for the coffee but good food paired with it is also part of the experience. It smells sweeter here, the sharp scent of freshly brewed coffee is only recognizable if she searches for it. Still, the aroma is promising enough.

It doesn’t surprise her when she sees that the cafe is packed. It’s a shame but it’s doable. She was looking forward to enjoying the atmosphere here but she’ll settle for to-go if there’s no other choice. Her eyes scan through the cafe, skillfully scoping every table and chair, in search of an available seat. The dull muted colors of the walls and furnitures seemingly blend and the people taking refuge are no less vibrant.

She can’t help but be disappointed that for every humdrum chair there is already an equally unremarkable person claiming it. Soft tones stretch and fill every inch of her vision as her eyes sweep across the room. Until something bright grabs her attention.

Then as if seemingly drawn to it, her eyes land on red.

Silver eyes meet hers. It’s sunny at the table by the window, the sunlight streaming in is brighter than any indoor light could offer at this hour. A brilliant smile pulls on her lips as quick as if a switch has been flipped on. And perhaps impossibly so, the smile lights up the place just a bit brighter.

"Hey! Weiss! Hi! Over here!"

The familiar figure shoots up from her comfortable seat with barely contained joy. She’s unnecessarily loud and Weiss only acknowledges her out of the social responsibility to prevent her from getting any louder. Her arms wildly flail around as if her shouts aren’t attention calling enough.

Weiss quickly goes over the short list of people who calls her by her name without proper address and then she goes over the even shorter list of people who is allowed to do just that in public. There’s only one person with a unique pair of eyes that fit the bill. Although she doesn’t remember any relationship between them that warrants her to be called out like this.

"Hello, there... Ruby," Weiss greets in her practised and polite tone once she arrives at her table. Ruby sits down and offers the seat across her but Weiss just stands beside it. On the table is an empty tall glass and a plate full of crumbs. At least one of them is clearly a satisfied customer of this establishment.

There’s a strangeness to this situation that she can’t quite grasp.

A barista is supposed to remember one’s name out of professional duty. But this? Having her name called and without a cup of coffee to she’s obligated to give? Granted this is a cafe too but she’s not even on duty and just makes this all the more strange.

"You said my name," Ruby points out as if it’s the most bizarre thing she’s ever heard. By now Ruby should know that she’s memorable enough to have her name remembered not quite by choice but out of necessity. So Weiss just dismisses the comment.

There are stranger things to take note of.

In this uninspired cafe that’s painted in Summer colors, Ruby sticks out like the first leaf of Fall. She looks comfortable in her hoodie, simple yet strikingly red. It’s unfortunate that her work uniform fits her form better— not that Weiss has been checking her out because she has _not_. Still, the hoodie fits her better in a way that goes beyond the superficial.

It must be the color. Weiss notes that red suits her more than the drab brown she dons for work. It definitely goes well with the crimson tips of her hair and although she’s not wearing any, Weiss imagines that there’s a shade of lipstick just for Ruby.

And _fine_ , she’s checking her out. But it’s not like Ruby’s not checking her out either.

Unlike her white business suit, Weiss wears a powder blue sundress, showing off more skin than usual. Her hair is up in a ponytail that’s teasingly off-kilter which only brings out her long danglings. She catches Ruby not so subtly sneak a few glances and subsequent blushes, and it takes all of her training to not mirror that rosiness when their eyes meet.

Red definitely suits Ruby especially on the cheeks. She looks like a flustered child as Weiss stands over her. It’s effortlessly adorable. She wonders if this is how Ruby sees her whenever she brings Weiss her order. She hopes she’s more elegant than that.

And since Ruby appears to be incapable of initiating conversation in her current state, Weiss steps up to the occasion with something relevant.

"Correct me if I'm mistaken but isn't there a clause in your contract that forbids you from supporting other coffee-based establishments?"

"What? Really?" Ruby squeaks out, her eyes shining wide like silver plates. She practically shrinks into her hoodie in a poor attempt to hide from her crime. "I mean... No...? I don't, I don't think so?" She asks tentatively as if her innocence will exempt her of her crime because clearly she never read the whole contract.

"Really." Weiss has never been one for joking about business and contracts.

"Even part-timers?"

"Even part-timers."

"Oh." Ruby practically blanches and Weiss almost hears her gulp. She slumps into her seat like someone resigned to their fate. But she’s not the type to give up so easily. And so she looks up with pleading eyes. "Please don't tell my boss?" She asks, half hesitant and half embarrassed, as if unsure of her own request.

"Yes, of course. I will conveniently forget about this meeting the next time that I happen to see your manager," Weiss rolls her eyes just in case her sarcasm goes misheard.

And it does and Weiss pays for it dearly as Ruby stands up and throws her arms around the unsuspecting woman in a blink. "Oh thank you so much, Weiss!"

If Ruby nuzzled, Weiss couldn’t tell since she was too shocked to process anything else. She’s never been able to handle affection of the physical sort but then again it’s probably because she never had to. Her family has a more distant way of showing this if at all, and anyone outside of family kept the physicality to a more manageable aspect. Hugs weren’t a thing for her. Hugs from a stranger is even farther out there. So she tries to steady herself with a deep breath.

It’s only then that she becomes acutely aware that the scent of roses she’s grown fond of may not just be from the latte.

She feels her chest suddenly constrict but she could blame it on the vice grip of Ruby’s surprisingly strong arms. It leaves her breathless nonetheless and she can’t quite decide on whether yet it’s a good thing or not. And Ruby seems completely oblivious to this all. If her squeal is any indication, she sounds as if she’s genuinely enjoying this. Meanwhile Weiss still can’t breathe.

She can’t breathe. It’s too much.

Too close, too soon. She almost suffocates.

So in a fit of survival she pulls away, with effort on her part, from the clingy ball of affection. She may have been a bit too forceful in her panic and she wonders if this has upset Ruby.

But when she looks back, Ruby is anything but upset. She’s grinning like a fool and this close Weiss could see just the faintest crinkles around the corner of her eyes that only the truly happy wear. Weiss did that. She didn’t even do anything and yet somehow she made her smile. And Weiss feels a different kind of breathless.

The pleasant scent of roses clings to her skin and lingers.

It sweeps under her nose and clouds her judgement. The intoxicating scent has her almost lean forward but she catches herself at the last moment. And Weiss isn’t sure if she wants to risk any more moments like these so a strategic retreat is in order.

"Yes, well it has been... interesting to chance upon you here but I must be off. Good day." She steps back, ready to turn around and leave.

"Hey, where are you going?" For the first time since this bizarre meeting, Ruby’s smile drops and in its place is a pout.

An adorable pout that no other adult would be able to pull off with as much childlike innocence.

"Isn't it obvious? To find a table for myself." _A table without you_ , Weiss finishes in her head.

"What? Nope!” Ruby reaches forward and tugs on her wrist. Her grip is strong but not overpowering. It’s strong enough to let her know how much she insists but loose enough for Weiss to break free from should she choose to. “Just sit with me!"

"And why should I accept that invitation?" Her eyes discreetly drop towards the hand still locked onto hers. She doesn’t move.

"Aside from the fact that there are no open tables right now?" Ruby laughs and her hand idly moves in circles like one does when explaining the obvious.

Except two hands move instead as the one she absentmindedly moves just so happens to be the one holding Weiss’.

"I thought it'd be nice to have some company. Part of the charm of coffee shops is so people could get together for coffee. But if you're in a hurry or want to pass up a perfectly good and free seat then by all means. So what do you say, partner?"

It annoys her that she could not find any fault in those reasons. Weiss is aware of just how unreasonable she’s being but that’s only because she doesn’t understand her own reasons. She’s not sure what has her hesitating but the fact is she just does. In truth, she wouldn’t mind either option but she would rather have another reason to choose one over the other. And so her eyes desperately search for any sign to tip the scales until they eventually find something.

Weiss makes her decision in a heartbeat.

“No.”

“W-What?” The unexpected objection surprises Ruby so much that when Weiss pulls her wrist free, Ruby’s hand simply falls just like her jaw has.

The click clack of Weiss’ heels are resoundingly loud as she walks away. She struts over to the only other empty seat in the cafe in the hopes of it being available. Once there, a man with blond hair flashes her what he must have thought to be his most charming smile. Weiss doesn’t even bother and she then turns her heels once again.

"I suppose this is an acceptable offer... And it would be rude to turn down your hospitality."

“Yay! You came baaaack!”

Weiss sits down across the loudly rejoicing Ruby. Honestly the fanfare was unnecessary and rather embarrassing. The energetic woman acts as if Weiss was a beloved companion reunited with rather than just a quasi stranger agreeing to share a table with her.

“Whatever. Just don’t bother me, and by no means does this make us friends.”

But Ruby had other plans.

“You're about to see a whole different side of me today, Weiss!” Ruby declares over Weiss’ disinterested look. It’ll take more than a rejection to discourage her. After all, she’s on a mission. ”And after it's all over, you're going to be like, ' _Wow! That Ruby girl is really, really cool... and I wanna be her friend!_ '”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Weiss scoffs because the mere idea of her uttering those words is ridiculous. For starters, she spoke more eloquently than that.

“You’re right! I could totally see us as _more than friends_! Like… Like best friends!” Ruby boldly declares without thinking. And it’s also with that thoughtless mindset that she continues,  “Or umm…”

Then full stop.

Unlike her earlier confidence, she seems to fall back to shyness at her own implications… whatever they are.

It’s painfully obvious that she did not mean to add that last part. At least not out loud.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it, dunce.” Weiss pretends to miss the relieved and sheepish look that Ruby sends her. She also pretends that she’s not blushing herself.  “We’ll just see where this goes.”

It goes not as quietly as Weiss would have liked but it’s within expectations when it comes to Ruby.

Weiss has unfortunately known the barista to be chatty at work but outside? The woman talks as much as she so breathes. Weiss falls back on her drilled social etiquette to nod politely every now and then. She doesn’t really join in the conversation and Ruby doesn’t push her to, perhaps content to just have someone to ramble on. The lack of expectations from one another makes up for the awkwardness.

Both of their orders arrive at the same time.

A blueberry muffin and the house blend for Weiss. A plate of cookies and a tall glass of milk for Ruby. Weiss’ nose crinkles before she could subdue the reflex.

"Cookies?" Weiss asks without sounding as judgmental as she feels.

"And milk!" Ruby happily nods.

"It's an interesting choice.” Because of course someone as childish as Ruby would order cookies and milk.

Already reading her mind, Ruby defends her life choices especially her love for cookies. "People are allowed to order something that isn't coffee from a coffee shop.” She sticks out her tongue which is even more childish than her order.

"That kind of defeats the whole purpose of a coffee shop though, doesn't it?" Unfortunately, Weiss cannot in good conscience let her disapproval of said life choices go unsaid.

"Look, I can tell that you're some kind of coffee snob—” Weiss shoots her a glare that says it’s not just a mean look she’ll be getting so Ruby quickly continues her point before Weiss could skewer her with words, “And that's _great_! You love coffee and I respect that."

“You have a funny way of showing respect.”

“Just because I respect something doesn’t mean I have to love it,” Ruby easily retorts. "You love your coffee. And me? I _love_ cookies!” She’s positively shaking with joy as she squeals her favorite not-secret. Coincidentally, she just might be shaking from all the sugar too since this is her second plate of cookies. “Oh, and milk goes great with them too!" She adds almost as an afterthought.

"If you love cookies so much then why didn't you just apply here or a bakery for that matter?"

"And torture myself by making all of those cookies that I would go to prison for eating them all instead of selling them to customers? I'm not that desperate."

"I doubt that's hardly a reason to get jailed for. Kicked out of a job maybe." Weiss rolled her eyes. Ruby seems to forget that she has a surprising knack for keeping her current job despite her poor job performance.

"Well I'm not risking it!" Ruby argues with probably the most seriousness that Weiss has ever seen on her. It’s a bit disconcerting where her priorities lie if she did seriously consider that. She probably did.

"Besides, I checked. They weren't hiring. And I figured I'd really rather be on the customer side for this one. Especially since this place has the best cookies on this side of Vale."

"Yes, I can tell." Weiss has only bitten on her muffin once meanwhile Ruby is already on her third cookie.

It’s not that her muffin is terrible per se, it’s actually the opposite. The only reason that Weiss hasn’t made more progress with her treat is because she’s not a savage who talks while eating. Ruby on the other hand loves cookies so much that she’s committing social etiquette suicide.

Weiss could only sigh like one does when faced with an unbeatable battle. "I will concede to the fact that this particular establishment has superior desserts."

Ruby blinks. "Wow, you really like to use big words, huh?"

"Excuse me?" Weiss shoots her a glare so cold that it could simultaneously freeze _both_ the glass of milk and the steaming cup of coffee.

"No, it's cool!” Ruby raises her hands like one would in the face of danger. Except she isn’t scared, not really. If anything, she looks like she’s having fun. “I think it's cute! It's kind of your roundabout way to say something. Really cute!"

Weiss opens her mouth to say something, _anything,_ to refute her. She closes her mouth when she couldn’t find the right words or any word for the matter. Purely from muscle memory, her lips pull out her two default words,

“Shut up.”

The look Weiss sends may be cold but it’s less effective when partnered with warm cheeks.

"You know what goes best with cookies?"

"Milk?"

"That too." And the milkstache on Ruby’s face is proof enough but it’s not enough of an answer either. "But nah, I was talking about weekends."

"Weekends..." Weiss repeats, unsure of where this conversation is going. She’s starting to realize that it’s a recurring theme with Ruby. It’s a feat in itself because Weiss takes pride in being certain of anything. But with Ruby? The ground underneath her feet isn’t as solid as she thought it was and more often than not, she’s stumbling.

She’s off balance.

It’s still too early to tell if it’s in a good way or not.

"Yup! Cookies taste the best on the weekends! Saturdays are my favorites! Saturday afternoons if I don't oversleep! Aren’t Saturdays the _bestest_?”

Weiss tries her _best_ not to correct the girl on the word but only because it would be a crime to dampen her ridiculously high mood.

The high doesn’t last long however. Ruby pouts when Weiss doesn’t reciprocate her enthusiasm. "You don't look convinced."

"Because I'm not." Weiss shrugs nonchalantly, exercising her freedom of choice to choose note to play along.

"Wow, shot down just like that." But Ruby takes the rejection like a champ. She doesn’t quite back down just yet. With newly found determination, she takes one of her cookies and offers it to Weiss’ lips. "Here. Try it!"

A bold move. If Ruby is aware of it, she doesn’t show. Which means she isn’t aware of it or at least Weiss assumes so. Again, it’s hard to tell with this unpredictable woman. But just because Ruby is probably unaware doesn’t mean that Weiss is. Not even her friends feed her in private and even less so in public.

She warily eyes the cookie as if it was toxic and less so intoxicating. She already knows what she would do. She would politely decline the ridiculous and perhaps rather intimate offer like the proper lady that she is. So she steels herself and makes the mistake of looking up to Ruby’s eyes. Those wide pleading eyes much like how a puppy cannot be refused. She knows she should have pulled away. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward instead.

And against her better judgement, she takes a small cautious bite off the cookie.

The cookie is meticulously chewed, every texture and flavor is given precision scrutiny. Weiss tastes it less like enjoying a dessert as any ordinary person would and more like rating it by gourmet standards. She’s delighted to note that it is soft and just the right amount of chewy, and the chocolate chips melt delectably well in her mouth. Perhaps it’s a tad sugary than she would have wanted but it’s nothing she wouldn’t enjoy a piece or two.

She swallows.

Then she makes another mistake of looking back at Ruby’s eyes which are now shining with approval.

But her most damning mistake of all is when her gaze shifted lower.

She swallows harder.

When Weiss pulled back earlier to savor the cookie, Ruby had apparently leaned forward in response, perhaps in an effort to get Weiss to get another bite should she want to. The seemingly innocuous action had the captivating consequence of Ruby’s hoodie dipping just right so her collarbone teasingly peeks, the skin running underneath it is just as fair until and it is swallowed by the shadows of valley.

Weiss’ throat is suddenly parched.

"So? How is it?" Ruby asks, more concerned about the cookie debate rather than questionably appropriate glances.

“It tastes like diabetes,” Weiss says blandly, which is the opposite of the much too sweet treat. She takes a long sip of coffee to wash away the sweetness and to satiate her sudden thirst.

If she was _still_ thirsty after, she would never admit.

When Ruby silently offers the rest of cookie, Weiss politely refuses, and she isn’t surprised anymore when Ruby unabashedly eats it. The only saving grace from this is that Ruby has thankfully leaned back in her seat which makes eye contact easier for Weiss. Although she refuses to admit that she had any trouble in the first place.

“Aaand?” Ruby asks even though her own mouth is still full of cookie chunks. Weiss upturns her nose in distaste.

“I don’t see how eating this on a Saturday will taste any different on any other day.”

“Well _duh_! That’s because you’ve only had this Saturday’s cookies. Every Saturday is a unique experience and a unique flavor!” Ruby’s enthusiasm more than makes up for Weiss’ skepticism. After all, she’s dead set on converting this non-believer. “You should give it another try!”

“Another Saturday, you mean.” Weiss catches on to the logic despite it not making any sense.

“Yup! Now you’re getting it, Weiss!” Ruby gave her a finger gun of approval. “Don’t you worry! Your new partner Ruby will help you investigate the mysterious ways of Saturdays and cookies!”

“I never agreed to this.”

And Weiss would never admit to later on looking forward to it either. Ruby on the other hand knows no shame when announcing her excitement.

“Just you wait. It’s gonna be great!”

* * *

  _She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t stand another minute._

 _Not when it was a Saturday and Saturdays were the_ bestest _. Saturdays meant everyone was at home the whole day. Everyone at home meant that included her mom. Her mom at home during the day meant more time together. More time together meant baking cookies. And Ruby really_ really _LOVED cookies._

 _That’s why Ruby’s been staring at the door this whole time. Well that didn’t really explain anything. See usually ‘everyone was at home the whole day’ meant the WHOLE_ _day but not this Saturday. There was an emergency at her mom’s work so being the supermom that she is, she went there. And because she was supermom, she also promised Ruby that she’d be back with the sun still out for them to bake the perfect cookies together._

_And since this morning, Ruby has been standing guard by the door ready to tackle her unsuspecting mom for hugs and kisses which are also the bestest._

_Ruby didn’t mind waiting. Okay so she did but she wasn’t a spoilsport about it. She’s used to it by now. She’s practically the champion... waiter? waitress? She’s really good at it. On any other day that’s not Saturday, she waits dutifully into the night until their dad comes home from work. It’s a bit trickier waiting for her mom since sometimes she comes home and sometimes she doesn’t on the weekdays._

_She misses her the most during those nights but Ruby is a strong girl who doesn’t cry out for her mom. She knows just how important her mom’s job is and how she helps people at work. She’s amazing and Ruby wants to grow up cool and helpful just like her! Even with all of the people who need her mom, she never missed the weekends until she absolutely had to. But at the end of the day, she’d come home._

_And so with this unquestioned truth, Ruby waited for her mom._

_She waited until it was lunchtime and not even her growling stomach could make her leave. Too bad her dad swept her off her feet and hoisted her towards the dining area. She wasn’t all too upset once she had her fill of good food._

_She waited until it was afternoon and for the record, she did not leave to play with her sister but it was her sister who pulled her into playing to pass the time. But she didn’t want to miss her opportunity should her mom come home while they were too busy playing knights and dragons so they set up their castle in the living room._

_She waited until it was night and by then she had to double check the calendar to see that today was in fact a Saturday and that her mom would definitely come home. She wonders if her mom would break the ‘no sugar at night’ rule since they already missed out on cookies during the day._

_She waited until it was past her bedtime and at this point she stopped caring about cookies altogether._

_She just wanted her hugs and kisses from her mom. It’s not just her alone waiting by the door. Her dad is there with them and with a face that Ruby’s never seen before nor does she want to see ever again. Her sister is holding her hand beside her, and the only reason they haven’t been sent to their rooms yet is because their dad is too distracted by what she could only assume to be the very worry consuming all of them._

_She waited until her seven year old body couldn’t keep up anymore. She waited until she fell into a dreamless sleep._

_She woke up but that was when her neverending nightmare began._

_“Summer’s not coming home.”_

_She wasn't dreaming when they told her she was gone. She was wide awake and feeling that they had to be wrong._

_“She’s not coming home… ever.”_

_Even when they told her this, Ruby’s heart still waited for her mom who would never come home._

_“Ruby, you shouldn’t waste your time waiting all day. I’ll come home soon enough, I promise.”_

_But her mom broke her promise that Saturday. Now she’s trapped inside a nightmare every single day._

_“She died trying to protect the others.”_

_Later on, Ruby would be told the whole story (or a wholly censored version of it). There was an explosion caused by a machine malfunction at the factory. Her mom had been there too late to prevent the accident. The debris made it hard to escape the building and the gas leak made it heard to breathe but there were survivors. They said her mom had rallied their morale and led them to the emergency exit. There probably wouldn’t have been as many survivors if it wasn’t for her mom’s selfless initiative. But at what cost?_

_Her mom chose to save rather than survive._

_She died doing what she loved to do the most. She died helping others. She died a hero._

_But where was she now when Ruby needed her?_

_Ruby understood that there were others who needed her mom. She thought she understood. But now she didn’t understand anymore. Her mom had left her for those ‘others’ and now she’s left alone for the rest of her life._

_And of all the things she’s lost ever since that day, the one thing that stays with her were the nightmares._

_Red like roses fills her head with dreams and finds her. Always closer. To the emptiness and sadness that has come to take the place of her._

_“It’s just a dream. Don’t let it get to ya.”_

_She sees red when she opens her eyes and she doubts if she’s truly woken up. But it’s a different kind of red. It’s not the red of rose petals that scatter along with the joy she’s taken for granted. It’s not the red of blood that stains and forever haunts her soul._

_It’s not_ HER _red._

_It’s a different shade of red. This red is a shade darker and yet in that darkness there is comfort. This red is crimson like well aged wine. This red belongs to living flesh and not to a twisted memory of a past that can no longer be lived._

_“You’re gonna be okay, kid.”_

_Ruby’s favorite color has always been red but it’s the redness in her Uncle Qrow’s eyes that bring her back home._

_“What? Need me to play you a song to scare away the nightmares? I’m a scary crow not a scarecrow. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You know I don’t do lullabies.”_

_He always complains but he ends up playing anyways. He plays for her every night that she has a nightmare so he plays for her every single night that he’s around. He brings his guitar with every visit since he’s prepared like that although he blames it on old habits of a retired rockstar._

_The guitar is older than she is, worn and loved in an almost envious way. But age does not take away its sound. Much like wine, this guitar has only aged for the better._

_It’s a recurring theme for her uncle who likes his guitar just as much as his alcohol, and is just as aged as both._

_A gentle sigh escapes from her lips and mixes in with the first refrain of soothing notes. Her vision fades to black as her eyelids finally give in to exhaustion. It’s not as scary now, the blackness. She’s always been afraid of it because it never ends there. After blackness comes the nightmares._

_But tonight she sees red—_

_A comforting shade of red. The red that only her Uncle Qrow manifests._

_And as the song progresses, more colors add into the mix. A quick rhythm bursts vibrant yellow beneath her eyelids and she pictures Yang with her grin fighting monsters. An erratic strumming blots her vision with spots of brown and white and now Zwei with his yips has joined the crusade._

_And before she knows it, she’s dreaming as in actual dreams and not the usual nightmares._

_It’s only in the comfort of her uncle’s songs that Ruby finally finds rest._

_“You want me to teach you the guitar? Sure but don’t expect me to go easy on you.”_

_One day, Ruby decides to stop letting the nightmares chase her and start chasing her dreams._

_So armed with an extra but just as old and loved guitar from her uncle, she starts to play herself songs or something as close as an amateur could. Her finger clumsily reaches and misses strings. It’s frustrating how easy her uncle weaves stories and songs but all Ruby can piece are dissonant chords that sound as if she’s strangling the same guitar. It’s frustrating but it’s also freeing._

_With every chord plucked, another chord coiled around her heart loosens._

_It sounds horrible if listened by the ear but her heart hears a different, a more melodic tune._

_“You’re terrible… But you’re getting better, kiddo.”_

_And she is. Ruby is far from fine. She’s not okay. But she’s getting better._

_There’s something comforting in the way that notes are born freely and scatter just as quickly._

_Like petals, like memories, and just like everything else in life that’s just as beautiful and precious as they are fleeting._

_They won’t ever take the place of her mom._

_But Ruby tries to anyways._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main driving reason why I wrote this fic was to have Ruby sing "Red Like Roses Part II" for the band so you know I just had to. (Yeah, some of the lyrics are in there because damn they're fucking beautiful.)
> 
> Also, hit me with that best Uncle Qrow stepping up to raise Rubes.
> 
>  **Addendum:** I'd like to think that even if Ruby had a career change, she would still end up choosing the new one on the criteria that she could help others as a result of her job. So yeah, she chose to be a safety engineer like her mom just so she could save lives too. They both made their own sacrifices in their line of work. While Summer chose to sacrifice her life, Ruby chose to sacrifice her career. Different choices yet both motivated by the same principle that still ultimately saved lives.
> 
> And when that job didn't work out for Ruby (for reasons beyond her control), she chose to form a band and save lives in a different way— in a way that had saved her too.


	6. From Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss and Blake are doing their jobs meanwhile Ruby and Yang are chilling at home

_There was no better performer out there than her._

_She wasn’t just a diva but she was the prima donna. She wasn’t just someone born for the stage, rather the opposite. It was only brought to life once she took the stage._

_Her presence demanded the spotlight she rightfully deserved and only the greatest of pieces were to be performed by the orchestra. Her face, a usually blank canvas, was painted with the most vivid of emotions and with her body as the frame which brought out the performance to another dimension. Her trills were so alluringly smooth that they were often mistaken as vibratos. Her voice serenaded the audience and everyone who has heard her haunting arias have become willing captives to her trance._

_With her fair skin seemingly glowing under the spotlight, she looked otherworldly._

_Words pulled from the depths of her soul pour out from her throat into bewitching songs that could only be sung by a siren. But she was no siren for a siren meant something born of fantasy, a myth that was in need of proof. She on the other hand need not proof only faith. And with the entire audience singing her prayers— she was a goddess._

_Ice Queen. That was the goddess name bestowed upon her by her faithful followers._

_When she was on stage, she was the only person of importance, everyone else seemed frozen and dead. She wasn’t just royalty, she was the_ queen _. She commanded adoration just as much as respect both from the audience compelled by servitude to maintain silence until the necessary applause, and from the company whom she shared the opera with sworn loyalty to her reign. An effortless yet just as stunning crescendo from her could force even the greatest of men down to their knees. And with a just as powerful tremolo, she would have them frozen and crushed under her heels._

_But such was her persona when performing on stage. This was all it was to her— a performance._

_And just like with every performance of hers, there was this necessary separation. There was always this disparity between herself and her role. Every note was struck with masterful precision and anyone who was graced to hear her was sent weeping. And yet there was this accompanying detachment to her voice._

_As she belted out arias, there would be an ongoing intermezzo playing inside of her. For all her years in the opera, she had never quite warmed up to her role._

_How wretchedly fitting, there may be some truth to her moniker._

_She’s heard the roar of applause but it has always fallen flat between her ears. The audience may just have well been filled with claques and in a way, they were. Just as Weiss was here to sing, these people were here just to sing praises of her voice. It’s all platitudes. They’d ask for an encore performance of this role Weiss has submitted herself to. Because at the end of the day, this was all just a show._

_A show where she was just another trophy daughter and her father was the maestro._

_“You must know your place by now. You are going to remain here, beautiful and unimposing. Be the obedient daughter or forfeit your future.”_

_However, her father was more powerful than any maestro, more cruel. He was the general director of her life._

_He was more of a dictator and less of a father._

_It was at his order to have her more than just sit still and be pretty, and it was under his tyrannical rule that he would never allow her to do more than just sing pretty. Her father had acquiesced to her being a Schnee so long as she never broke free from the script. He had already decided on her role and it was final. She was only an heiress in name and he had made sure that she only had opera singer to her reputation._

_But she didn’t want to be on the stage. She never asked to be the Ice Queen._

_She just wanted to be Weiss Schnee._

_“Young lady, I don't give a damn about what you want. This isn't about you! This is about the Schnee family name so do as you’re told!”_

_It was never about her and at some point she finally realized that it was never about the family name to him either. After all, to her they were one and the same. She wanted to bring honor to the family and she wanted to do it as herself._

_All the opera has brought her was glory and although there was some dignity to the fame she’s earned, it’s nothing more than empty honor. She knew very well that the opera was just her father’s way to keep her far away from his high pedestal, and even farther away from the the family company._

_But every performance must reach its inevitable finale and this was her curtain call._

_She’s tired of being treated like a pawn. She’s spent all of her life living under his demands but now she’s taking the throne from him. She’ll claim what was her birthright all along. And she’ll finally be the queen whose dominion was more than just farce._

_And so, for the first time since she’s stepped on stage, she breaks the libretto._

_“I refuse to play the subservient daughter anymore. It’s time for you to step down. I’m taking back my crown.”_

_She’s changing the lyrics._

* * *

“You think we should change the lyrics on this one?”

“I think you’re dodging the question.”

It’s just another lazy afternoon for a certain pair of siblings. This is how their schedule works out.

The younger sister, energetic as anyone with too much sugar in their coffee, would always rise early. And being the bundle of restless nerves that she is, she goes to her part-time job to work off the excess excitement.

The older sister, who prefers flexitime when it comes to sleep and everything else, has opted to sleep off her mornings. She instead works at night since obviously that’s when all of the crazy stuff happens and she’d be damned if she wasn’t the cause of half of those.

But afternoons though? This is the sacred chill time between the sisters. It’s when band practice, videogame tournaments, movie marathons, remote tug of wars, slacking off, and other important bonding events happen.

Coincidentally, it’s also the perfect time for interrogations.

“C’mon, sis! When are you going to introduce me to this fine maiden that you’ve been going out with every weekend!”

Yang traps her into a one-armed hug over her shoulders, her grip already doing the talking that she won’t take no for an answer. She shakes her up a bit with an all knowing smile. “I mean I gotta meet her at some point you know. Better now than at the wedding!”

“W-W-Wedding?!” Ruby stammers and gulps at the same time which clearly isn’t a thing one should do because she chokes on herself momentarily. “Ack!”

It’s too late to blame the redness of her cheeks on her efforts to breathe normally again. But she eventually settles for short breaths although that just might be from her own nervousness.

“We’re not even _together_!” She squeaks out in that high pitch voice she only gets when she’s truly embarrassed.

“Still?” She raises an eyebrow in blunt judgement.

Because it’s been what? Weeks? Months? Who knows when exactly the not so secret affair began? But still, nothing? Yang can’t quite decide if she should pity Ruby or the girl that Ruby has her gooey eyes on.

“Wow, I thought I taught you better than to keep a lady waiting.”

“You didn’t teach me anything!”

“Which clearly explains why cookies are the only things you eat out on your dates.”

The innuendo definitely _did not_ miss Ruby who’s turned as red as her namesake. Maybe redder. And although she knows her vocal range, she hears what just might be an all time high on the highness of pitch. It’s a mix of a screech and a squeak— a _screeak_ , she thinks. It sounds suspiciously similar to her in distress.

“We’re taking things slow!”

“I thought you said you two weren’t a thing yet?” Yang smirks. It’s always too easy to get her sister to talk, even easier when she’s flustered.

“We aren’t!” She denies at first but even her conviction wavers once she gives it some more thought. Said thoughts she also said aloud,

“I mean uhh, we kind of ummm, sorta… are?”

She frowns.

“I dunno. It’s hard to tell with her sometimes since she’s sorta mad at me like half the time?”

Then she smiles.

“But like in a cute way!”

And now she’s back to doubting. “I mean I’m definitely sure she’s into me… I think.”

“That is not vague at all.” Yang just shakes her head. She’s already used to the quick succession of ‘emotional phases of Ruby’ but that’s only because she’s lived with her for _years._ She wonders if Ruby’s girl (potential girlfriend) is just as wise. “I’m kind of feeling sorry for the lady who has to solve your Rubyx cube.”

“Ha ha... HA!” Ruby laughs like she does when she has an ace up her sleeve but not literally because that’s cheating in card games.

She runs to the sofa just so she could stand on it, proof that she’s on higher grounds for this topic. Like a child who’s won a game, she looks down on Yang all smug and points at her.

“The joke’s on you because _my_ lady is super smart! She uses all these big words sometimes! Well mostly when she’s mad at me but still! Super smart!!”

“She sounds pretentious.” Yang doesn’t need fingers to point that out. “Are you sure she isn’t just taking advantage of you?”

“What? NO! Of course not!”

Ruby readily defends her (not) girlfriend. She’s literally stepped down from her high pedestal and now she’s as grounded as her sister just so she could better make her case. After all, this was her (not) girlfriend’s honor at stake!

“She would _never_ do something as heartless as that! She’s a bit stiff but that doesn’t make her mean. She’s really kind once you get past under her prickly words!”

“Well you know I just had to check. Big sister duty and all.” Yang shrugs. She notices how her shoulders are just a bit lighter with that weight off now that she hears how assured her sister is of this girl’s (potential girlfriend’s) character.

“I’m a big girl now too.” Ruby pouts but she doesn’t swat Yang’s hand which ruffles her hair with affection in a way that only an older sister could.

“You’ll always be my baby sis to me. Now you’re just a big baby!”

“I’m a twenty-three year old _adult_!”

“Still two years younger! And that’s what? Fourteen years apart if those were dog years.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense! Why would you use dog years? In case you forgot, I’m your _human_ sister, Yang.”

“Not when you use those _puppy dog_ eyes of yours!”

“What? I do _not_ have puppy dog eyes! Wait, do I? I mean I don’t!“

“Did you hear that? Pretty sure I heard cute barking.”

“I don’t _bark_!”

“And there it is again! So _cute_!”

They go back and forth bickering like this for a while. Three minutes tops. Two weeks if they go serious and place in bets. But this time it only lasts for another minute. It’s a slow day like that. Ruby puffs her cheeks as she sits down on the sofa. The only reason why Yang hasn’t made a hamster comment yet is because she’s dedicated to the dog conspiracy theory. But it’s still cute regardless and Yang pokes one side as she sits beside her disgruntled puppy sister.

“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you just yet.” Ruby huffs and drops the puffiness in her cheeks.

“What did I do?” Yang innocently asks with a laugh.

“You know what you did,” Ruby starts but when Yang gives her a clueless look, she heaves a sigh and explains, “Don’t you think it’s rude to assume about people you haven’t met yet?”

Right, that. If only there was some way for her to meet said persons in order to skip making rude assumptions altogether, she thinks.

But Yang only says, “Gee, I wonder whose fault that is?” She rolls her eyes to punctuate her point.

“Huh? Obviously that would be… Oh.” Ruby blinks once and a look of understanding dawns on her face. She doesn’t miss the smug smile that Yang shoots her and in a childish fit, she retaliates, “Well that’s only because we aren’t even a legit thing yet!”

 _Yet_ , her mind echoes.

But she shakes off that distracting thought and focuses on pummeling her nosy sister. She elbows her but only lightly because she knows from experience how hard her Yang’s muscles can be. “You though!”

“What about me?” She goads her on.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Yang. It’s not like you to act all shy now.” _Or ever_ , she finishes in her head. The fact that Yang is acting differently just shows how much of a big deal this is. And Ruby would like to repay the favor of bluntness so she outright admits, “I know you have a girl that you have your eyes on.”

“When do I not?” She smoothly deflects because this isn’t the first time she’s been accused of it. And this certainly won’t be the first time that she’ll deny it. “All girls are beautiful.”

“Agreed.” Because that is a universal truth regardless of sexuality. “But that’s besides the point.”

Then all pretense of humor disappears from Ruby’s voice. Behind her eyes there is no teasing unlike Yang’s earlier pretense when discussing this matter. Ruby is much more delicate when it comes to personal matters especially when they involve her sister.

So she sends her a look of encouragement, one carefully softened with understanding.

“You’re serious about her.”

It gets harder to keep up the act when faced with such tenderness. Yang wants to deny it but she doesn’t understand why her own need to hide it. After all, this was Ruby. Everything is safe with Ruby. Hell, _she_ feels safe with Ruby. And yet she hasn’t told her this before, why? A part of Yang knows the answer but she can’t quite put it into words.

She sighs and gives her a tired smile. Maybe Ruby could help her figure this out.

“What ever gave me away?”

“You’ve been coming home sober a lot. Not to say that you get drunk a lot, which you don’t, I mean sometimes you do but…”

Ruby recalls that the only rare times her sister has gotten drunk were times when she’d push the thrill seeking to the limit. It usually happens once a month and more often when they’re not on a rock tour. But lately they’ve been on the backburner cooking up a new album and Yang could get restless. But she hasn’t. Not this time.

“Just that you haven’t gotten smashed in like… ever.”

It’s awkward getting called out like this but she doesn’t deny it. She’s responsible of her actions and all the consequences involved. Yang laughs weakly. “That’s good, right?”  

“It _is_ good…” She confirms and for the next part, she makes sure that Yang sees the softness in her eyes when she tells her, “I think she’s good for you.”

Ruby says it so surely that it’s as if she’s already met her. And in a way she has. She’s met her through the person that Yang’s becoming.

“And you’re better. You’ve been trying to be better for her. She makes you want to be a better person, right?”

That’s love, bitch.

“That obvious, huh?” Yang feels herself sink into the sofa as the truth comes down heavy on her.

“Yep.” Ruby pats her on the shoulder with knowing patience.

It’s all the patience she needs to finally admit what she’s known all along, “Look, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet her. I just want to make sure that this thing between me and her is _real_ first so I know how to introduce her to you. I don’t want to fuck this up. I want to do her right.”

And Yang may be all muscles and part metal but all that hardness is superficial. Right now she is the softest she’s ever been. She’s always at her softest when she thinks about the person she wants to be soft with.

She gives her a tired but relieved look. The kind of look that says she’s run out of words and hopes that she gets it at the same time. “That makes sense?”

“I don’t know…” Ruby hums and it takes a teasing tone near the end. “It sounds awfully familiar~”

“Familiar... how?” Yang tilts her head at just the right angle for the realization to fall into place. “Ohhh.”

“What goes around, comes around.”

“Not unless I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that!”

* * *

_She was finished._

_She has known it to be true ever since she saw the papers but it was one thing to hold the official documents and it was another actually living it. She’s been living in the darkness for so long that not even she could tell her apart from her own shadow. She didn’t think she’d ever see a light that isn’t from the flashlight of a hunting copper. In a way, she’s always been afraid of the light and what it will reveal of her. But now that the light has reached her, it did  more than just reveal_ — _it separates. Her shadow was separated from her and in turn, her true self was revealed._

_All those years spent lurking in the shadows have finally come to an end._

_Her golden eyes shone bright with renewed hope now that she didn’t have to hide them under a mask anymore. On her skin was a freshly pressed suit, still foreign on her body so used to rags that blended well with shady alleys should she need to make her escape there._

_The blackness of her suit was chosen out of her own preference rather than of necessity like her old but now discarded cloak. And the hair she’s always tied behind with a bow was now free without a care. Now she could finally look herself in the mirror and walk in broad daylight as is_ , _as she truly is._

_Long gone was Gambol Shroud and in her place was Blake Belladonna as it should be._

_Blake lived an entirely different life from her previous self. She didn’t have to cling to the shadows that have given her refuge just as much as they have given her ire. She didn’t have to clutch a weapon of death just as tightly as she desperately clung to and fought for her own life. She didn’t have to dodge eye contact just as much as she dodged bullets. She still had to do all of the above occasionally but those were few and far in between and most weren’t as life threatening— not to her at least._

_And although she has always been confident in her skills and in herself, there’s a newly found daring light to it when she walked into her first day at her new job._

_“You're wearing piercings.” Her boss pointed out with mild interest._

_“Yes. Will this be a problem?" Blake asked, challenging._

_Weiss smirked, approving. “Not at all.”_

_She blinked. That clearly wasn’t the response she thought she would get. A scolding definitely or maybe a lay off if she followed up with a few choice words. But the last thing she expected was indifference bordering approval. The circumstances of her employment were already eccentric to begin with, she just didn’t think it would extend to her employer’s professional treatment._

_She didn’t think it would be this easy. Her_ whole life _has never been easy. And yet here she was with a job and a boss who didn’t discriminate and didn’t so much bat an eyelid at her unconventional uniform when she has been treated so much worse just for breathing._

_This was different. This was… good._

_She’s not used to good._

_“Oh, but there is one thing you should know.”_

_And there it was. The delayed punch in the gut. Blake knew it was too good to be true anyways. So with practiced indifference, she braced herself._

_“_ _What is it?”_

_“There might be some people who mistakenly believe that their opinion must be shared and given as much matter as they foolishly believe themselves to be important.”_

_Weiss didn’t need to grimace to show her distaste against said individuals. Her eyes narrowed into icy slits sharp enough to cut any objection and if that wasn’t enough, the coldness in her gaze was enough to freeze anyone into submission._

_“_ _I do not condone any unnecessary violence toward these people no matter how barbaric they can be.”_

_Blake met her gaze like one would parry an attack. Weiss’ eyes were so sharp that they could even rival her own blade. But Blake has never lost a fight before and now wouldn’t be the first time she’d back down from one. It was threatening but she didn’t feel threatened at all. Her own eyes slanted, sharpening._

_“Understood.”_

_That seemed to signal the end of the conversation but it was her job to stay. She’s about to turn her gaze away when those steely eyes commanded her to stay put._

_“I’m not done yet.” Weiss’ tongue clicked. Another unspoken order to listen._

_“However, I will not tolerate any slander towards me or any other person of good character.”_

That includes you _, her gaze seemed to say but Blake found that hard to believe._

_And yet there was a different kind of coldness to Weiss as she said this. The authority was there but there was also something else to it, something that Blake couldn’t quite place what it was. It felt as if it was so long ago since she’s last seen anything close to whatever it was. And it bothered her, not knowing. Being in the dark. Again._

_“When this happens, you are to file a report to me. Any exchange of words that will take place by your initiative is irrelevant to me but not disallowed.”_

_Ah. Blake now understood. It was as if someone had turned on the light in the dark room called her head._

_This felt different because for once, she wasn’t the subject of someone else’s fury._

_Those harsh words weren’t directed at her, rather they were set upon the truly lowlifes who would come after her. She didn’t feel threatened because the threat wasn’t meant for her, rather it was for her_ sake _._

_And everything else fell into place. This wall that Weiss put up wasn’t just to keep people away, it served to protect as well. Her words were as sharp as they were precise, every cut calculated perfectly to strike down only her foes. As for her comrades, she’d defend with nothing less than honor._

_Although her boss might come off as cold but there was some comfort to be found in that coldness. Blake didn’t recognize it at first only because it’s been so long since the last time someone looked out for her._

_It was a different kind of experience. This was the good kind of different. She could get used to different._

_“Are you giving me permission?” She couldn’t help the playful tone that danced on her lips. There was something emancipating about confirming one less enemy to think about. And even more so to know that there was camaraderie instead._

_“I’m telling you how to do your job.” Weiss huffed, refusing to play along. For now at least. After all, it’s only the first day and they have a long way ahead of them._

_“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Blake replied with the confidence of someone with more work experience than she truly had. A truly inspiring employee._

_“Good. I look forward to working with you.” There was a handshake offered, a show of agreement, a sign of mutual respect. An expectant challenge._

_When Blake took the hand, it didn’t feel like it was holding her down. If anything, it was the opposite._

_For the first time in a long while, she’s finally free._

* * *

"Are you free by any chance after this?"

Blake groans, voicing out her grievances. She’s not looking forward to overtime. "Why? Did someone botch the financial reports again?"

"Thankfully no." Weiss pinches the bridge of her nose. They both did not want a repeat of that fiasco and hopefully no one else wanted to get fired so soon. Still, that’s not what she had in mind. The unexpected question has her clarifying her intentions. "What I meant to ask for is your company after work."

There’s an uncomfortably long pause as Blake studies her boss with masked suspicion.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" She asks with her best poker face yet.

"WHAT!"

Weiss sputters in disbelief and in her panic, she drops the folder of documents only for Blake to nonchalantly catch them. She stays oblivious to this as her eyes lock onto the cause of her distress.

"I!! You!!!”

She opens her mouth again but the pure shock stuns her from forming coherent sentences. She points at her in indignant accusation.

“How could you even _think_ that!"

"Relax, Weiss. I'm just messing with you." Blake finally reassures her as her blank face breaks into a teasing smile. She hears Weiss grumble a threat of docking her pay but she knows it’s an empty threat. She shrugs it off. "But maybe next time. I already made plans for tonight."

Technically she hadn't. It's not like she needed to plan for tonight anyways since it's already a given that she'll be spending it getting drinks from her favorite bartender.

"Oh." Weiss tries to pass it off as her being unaffected but the relieved look in her eyes is telling.

And since Weiss has brought it up already, Blake supposes it’s her turn to be a good friend— just to call it even. So she tries to do now whatever bonding they would miss out later.

"What's up with you anyways? Sick?" She nonchalantly prods.

"I am in perfectly good health mind you. What ever gave you the notion?" She raises her chin at the insinuation that she could be in anything but perfect condition. If she believes that she’s better than everyone else then it’s only because she is.

That intimidation tactic might work on anyone else but not on Blake. She knows her better by now. So she shrugs and lays down the truth,  "It's not like you to initiate anything social."

"I'll have you know that I have plenty initiative to socialize." She crosses her arms which is another classic power display. Too bad it’s not as effective on Blake who is glaringly taller than her, much to Weiss’ displeasure.

"Really? When was the last time you asked me to hang out with you?” Blake questions her and when Weiss is just about to retort, she cuts her off, “And anything on the clock doesn't count."

This instantly deflates whatever Weiss was about to defend herself with. She gives it a few more seconds but when it’s clear that Weiss is empty handed, Blake smirks.

"I rest my case."

It falls a tad bit too heavy on Weiss but only because the woman takes everything too seriously, even jokes.

“Hey, I'm not mad. I'm just... curious to see you like this.” Blake reassures her and when she sees her relax her guard, she takes that as a successful attempt. But she’s not just going to settle just for that. “So? Where did this idea come from?”

Weiss levels her with one of her own scrutinizing stares. Her fingers tap on her arms as her mind carefully calculates on what best next to say. She supposes that Blake has earned enough of her trust for her to impart some personal information. And it’s not like she would withhold such should they become more relevant. But she at least lets herself the reprieve of not meeting expectant eyes.

"I may have gotten myself involved in some other company..." She admits in what she hopes to sound as a neutral and strictly professional tone. She even takes pride in her successful effort to prevent color from blossoming on her cheeks. There, she’s done her share of well, sharing. Surely, her companion would leave it at that.

"Oh?” But of course, Blake hears through the facade. She even leans forward with an all too conspiring smirk. “Just how _involved_ is this?"

"Oh, _hush_! As if you're one to talk!"

She swats at the already laughing woman who easily dodges the harmless swipe. Still, she refuses to be made the only fool of. She pokes a finger at Blake’s chest which only lands because she lets it. Oh how Weiss will enjoy turning the tables on her.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you coming to work nursing hangovers more often than not.”

She doesn’t miss the way that Blake almost flinches at that hot take and it only fuels her triumphant smirk.

“You shouldn’t let your guard down like that. After all, I don’t pay you to do otherwise.”

She’s always had the awful habit of defaulting to business speak rather than saying what she truly means. Blake is still her personal assistant foremost but lately she’s been a friend to her first. Although she’s never admitted it out loud, she thinks of herself as a friend too. And as a friend, she has her concerns.

“Please do me the favor of assuaging your employer that there’s a perfectly _good_ reason for the recent delinquency.” Her words are cut cold but that’s just an act she hasn’t quite outgrown of yet. The truth is in her round eyes that are blue like ice but there is no coldness. There is only the genuine worry of a friend and freely given warmth. “Both for your sake and mine, I sure hope so.”

It’s a good thing that Blake is more than sober to give her the answer. Honestly, these rare moments of sentimentality between them may be few but she cherishes them all the more. It reminds her that Weiss is here more than just her employer.

She’s a comrade and more importantly, her friend.

And while Blake has always preferred to keep her personal life private, it’s also been a while since she had a friend to share it with. That and the fact that she couldn’t in good conscience keep Weiss worrying. With that in mind, she admits, "I'm definitely not drowning my sorrows in alcohol if that's what you're worried about."

"Good, because I didn't want to bring up the terms of your contract into this conversation." The quip comes out with softened edges as Weiss breathes out easily, relieved.

“And if you’re that concerned then don’t be.” The genuine concern for her sake never goes unappreciated. In a rare fit of honesty, Blake confesses, “I just met someone and let’s just say that her idea of... fun _,_ comes with free drinks.”

“Oh.” Weiss falls quiet at the information. She’s making that face that shows she’s retreated back into her fortress to strategize. She doesn’t stay there that long and when she returns, it’s something. It’s tentative, perhaps maybe a bit shy. "So… I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share more on this topic?”

Ah, that’s what it is. Inexperienced.

The clinicality of her words is just too much. Blake has worked for Weiss for years now and the businesswoman was still socially inept sometimes when it came to anything that didn’t give her a position of power. That meant everything outside of business related matters. She could hold herself well in galas filled with hounding reporters and opportunistic socialites.

But one-on-one girl talk? She’s slipping on her own ice. Weiss is so awkward that it’s almost a pity.

A laughable pity really.

Blake doesn’t even hide her own amusement as she snorts, “If that’s your attempt at getting me to open up then let me do you a service. That’s terrible.”

And Weiss has never learned to handle criticism from a friend as gracefully as she does in public. With unrestrained fury, she sharpens her ice into icicles. “The nerve of! Well pardon me for trying!”

“Oh, so the _queen_ wishes to be pardoned? I never thought I’d see the day.” She merely laughs off the death glare sent to her.

“Hmph! I liked you better when you were antisocial.”

“Ah but then I would go back to not using doors and we both know how much you hate that.”

* * *

_“There is a perfectly functioning door and it would do you well to use it if you want an acceptable first impression.”_

_No response._

_Not only did they not use the door, they also did not seem to use common courtesy. Weiss heaved an exasperated sigh. Must these uninvited guests be so rude? She turned to face what seemed to be an empty dark corner of her dressing room but she knew better. There was an almost imperceptible shadow there lurking, waiting for an opportunity that Weiss would never give._

_However, she would offer diplomacy instead._

_“Let's not fool ourselves. There are no windows here so escape is not an option I'll be taking.” She didn’t need to meet her trespasser’s eyes to deliver the sharpness in her words, cutting through the veil of the night. “Now would you rather sulk in the shadows deluding yourself that I am still caught unaware or would you rather have a civil conversation?”_

_Still no response._

_That was until the shadow slowly crept along the wall. The movement was innocuous at first but when moonlight found the edges of the shadow, it vanquished the cloak of darkness only to reveal a woman with a shroud made of the night sky. But there were no stars on that night sky for what shone was not on its silken cloth but rather underneath it._

_Something else glistened under the sliver of moonlight. It could have been a gun or a blade. Or it could have been both. Whatever it was, it had a dangerous glint. And when the enigmatic woman spoke, it sounded just as cold and concealed as her weapon._

_“You're taking this surprisingly well.” Blake stood only half in light, purposefully enshrouding her other weapon and giving the illusion that she only had one with her instead of a pair. This upper hand was also part of the reason why she volunteered to reveal herself._

_“Well you're not exactly the first... suitor to try,” Weiss calmly explained, less discreet about the way her left hand rested on the hilt of her rapier. The fact that she even had a rapier on her in her own dressing room was proof enough that this was an all too common occurrence._

_“Do you talk to all your would be killers like this?” This was the other part of the reason why she conceded to this conversation at all._

_Curiosity. Never did she meet a target who initiated a conversation. There were those who bargained but that was begging. This? This sounded so casual that it was bordering unsettling. There was no fear nor desperation in Weiss, only an eerie calmness born of being so self assured. Blake wondered if this strength was mere bluff or sheer foolishness out of thinking she could be bought. But Weiss hadn’t made any call for negotiations just yet and Blake couldn’t be sure if that was her goal, if any at all._

_“Not all of them. Not everyone is gifted with words such as yourself. Some skip right to the bidding, ready to go back on their contracts for greater lien. Others less practical and more foolish choose to forego the money and go to jail for their attempt with injuries costing far more than they would have made should they succeed.” Weiss made a dismissing gesture with her unoccupied hand. “Obviously they never do. And none ever will.”_

_Blake thought a reply was not necessary so she kept silent._

_“Where are my manners? Let it never be said that a Schnee was a poor host.” Her eyes momentarily shifted towards the door as if in consideration yet her feet stayed firmly rooted on the polished floor. With practiced poise she offered, “Would you like to join me for some tea?”_

_While it didn’t look like Weiss planned on making a run for it, still Blake couldn’t take that risk. “Pass. Could be poisoned.”_

_“Yes, because obviously_ I _am the trained assassin between the two of us.” Weiss rolled her eyes, not at all disappointed at being turned down. It only confirmed that her invitation was not an attempt at escape, merely pleasantries._

_Now Blake wasn’t here on pleasant business and she was growing rather impatient. She didn’t delay her job just for some forgettable small talk. Her exposed hand shifted its grip on her weapon, the movement was not missed by her target. With her attention back on track, Blake demanded,_

_“_ _So? You wanted to talk. So... Talk. “_

_“Hmm…” It was supposed to be intimidating but if anything, Weiss looked intrigued by Blake’s show of power. “Very well then. Please give me a few moments to gather my thoughts.”_

_The silence stretched until it gave way to tension. The longer the conversation went on pause, the more restless Blake became. Despite seemingly calm, she was alert, anxious to raise her weapons should she find out that her time had been wasted. She’s started to think that she should have finished this before it even started._

_Yet her curiosity got the better of her practicality and now she would get her damn satisfaction._

_“You know, perhaps we could come into an agreement,” Weiss finally started with a palpable shift in her tone. Gone were the earlier pleasantries and replaced with strict professionalism that only a truly adept businesswoman could possess._

_This was no longer a conversation but a negotiation._

_“What could you possibly offer to me?” Blake only asked because she wanted the eventual satisfaction of rejecting them. Bring down the heiress down her high pedestal. She would not be so easily persuaded._

_“I have something you'd find more useful for yourself. I'm offering you a job.” She didn’t see how Blake’s eyes rolled behind her mask._

_“Let me guess, you want me to go after the people who hired me to kill you.” She’s been offered this proposal before and she’s refused them just the same once she’s confirmed just how low her targets would sink to. They were all the same._

_But Weiss was adamant to prove herself different._

_“Only the desperate and the immoral will resort to murder and I will never stoop so low.” She scowled as if disgusted by the mere insinuation that she was anything similar. But her goal wasn’t to authenticate her character, her goal was to recruit. So she then schooled her face back to its professional neutrality and continued, “But I will pay a separate fee to know who they are.”_

_That meant that there was more to this job offer, Blake thought. She warily probed, “I’m assuming that’s not all you want me to do.”_

_Weiss’ eyes shifted ever so slightly but the effect was devastating. Her gaze was so piercing that it felt as if she was staring right through Blake’s mask and into her soul._

_“Tell me, do you enjoy what you do?” It was less of an inquiry and more of a command._

_“It pays the bills.” She dodged the question with expert ease._

_Blake neither confirmed nor denied it._

_“So that's a no.” The smug smile on Weiss’ lips was arrogantly sure of her success. “Splendid. This will make negotiations easier.” She clapped her hand as if to signal the end of negotiations._

_But this wasn’t the end. This was only the beginning._

_“Work for me.” Weiss all but ordered her, confident that she would accept anyways._

_“I thought you didn't want a hitwoman,” Blake smoothly retorted. A new contract didn’t sound all too appealing considering it was just the same job but with a different employer._

_Except this wasn’t her usual job offer._

_“I don't want a hitwoman. I want you as my bodyguard.”_

_This was something never before offered to the assassin._

_And Weiss took Blake’s stunned silence as a need for further persuasion. “While it certainly doesn't pay as high as the lump sum your current job provides but my offer has its benefits... official benefits.”_

_Meaning documents, official papers that Blake did not have the privilege of as an illegal immigrant. With those papers, she could actually be a recognized citizen in the light instead of a fugitive always clinging to the shadows. She doubted that Weiss knew that part of her background but she didn’t doubt that she had the resources to turn that issue nonexistent. And if she did want her in her employ that badly then this would work out for Blake._

_But that’s the thing. Things don’t work out for her. They never have. So what made this time different?_

_She couldn’t let herself be blinded by the light. There were still shadows of doubt lingering in her mind. “You can hire anyone else to be your bodyguard so why choose me?”_

_It was an understandable question and one that Weiss was apparently prepared to answer. “If I may ask, how were you planning to kill me?”_

_“Still planning to,” She corrected but it didn’t sound as vindicated or sincere as she thought she was. Blake had underestimated how tempting the offer was and it had her hesitating._

_Weiss didn’t even flinch at the threat but then again, she’s never once shown any fear during this whole surreal exchange. Whether it was out of pride or true strength, Blake had to hand it to her that she was tenacious._

_“_ _Yes well, the issue still stands. You aren’t the first to come after my head and you certainly won’t be the last. And while I’m confident that I can buy a number of them, it’s getting a bit tedious.”_

_“How will me being your bodyguard help?” She pressed her on._

_“An ordinary bodyguard wouldn’t have the same… forward thinking as you do.” She paused, letting that keypoint sink in. “I don’t suppose you know of the principle, ‘It takes one to know one’. Simply put, given your job history, you will have better foresight than any other bodyguard the agencies can give me.”_

_She offered her dominant hand, leaving the safety of her rapier’s hilt._

_A show of complete assurance in the agreement. A gesture of trust. An offer._

_“You have the best qualifications and I only want the best to work for me.”_

_What happened next was the nitty gritty part._

_“And just how much are you willing to pay for my service?”_

_“Name your price.”_

_“Immigration papers.”_

_“That can be arranged.”_

_“Work hours?”_

_“Irregular but reasonable. Minimum of eight hours a day, five days a week, but you will be required to stay longer so long as I do. Granted of course that you will be paid overtime for those extended shifts. Holidays and leaves of absence are negotiable.”_

_“Benefits?”_

_“Health benefits and paid time off. These are just a few of a long list of benefits that will be yours upon signing of contract. You will be working for a top company so expect the perks to be the top of its industry as well.”_

_“Uniform?”_

_“A suit of your choice courtesy of the company. It will be subject to approval but as long as it’s presentable then there should be no problem. Modifications are allowed but only within reason. Work attire should reflect work ethics after all.”_

_The two skillfully danced around one another— a pas de deux._

_“Anything else?” Weiss smirked, confident that she had made her case and won her over._

_It was too good to be true but it was also true that Blake had enough of the bad. If there was some sort of catch to this then she could always deal with it. She’s dealt with troublesome employers before who didn’t keep up their end of the contract. And although she didn’t know Weiss, she thought that her attitude was telling enough that she wouldn’t have that problem with her. So what’s stopping her?_

_The hand Weiss had raised earlier was still up, still offering._

_But before Blake could accept the waiting hand, she had to step into the light first._

_“When do I start?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of supportive sisters now I present to you supportive coworkers. These two need friends and hugs honestly.
> 
> Originally this was supposed to be just about BW and RY just chilling respectively but then I got sucked into Weiss and Blake's backstory and now you get 2.5 chapters smooshed into one! **This is a massive 7.5k words update** which is the longest chapter to date!! And probably the most fun I've had yet!!! _(I'm such a fucking fool to think that I started this with 3k now my updates are 5k+ someone stop me I'm dying)_ Hope you enjoyed it too and if you did, please let me know!

**Author's Note:**

>  **Updates will depend on the amount of feedback I get.** I know it's tagged as slow burn but without comments, it's going to be slow updates. Because seriously, there's no motivation quite like hearing from you awesome people!


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